Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Founders
by Voldemort's Patronus
Summary: AU HalfBlood Prince. This is another way the HBP could have gone. The war is on and the only person with the power to stop Voldemort's second reign of terror is sulking alone in a cold, dark room. The unexpected arrival of an old school chum in Pr
1. Flight From Privet Drive

Chapter 1

Flight From Privet Drive

A stiff, chill wind blew among the square, neatly kept houses of Privet Drive. It had been rather cool so far this summer- the coolest June in England for 50 years, according to the weatherman. The normally vibrant lawns of Privet Drive were a sickly sort of light green. The flowers lay lifeless in the gardens, either limp and withered or scrunched up tightly, refusing to bloom. The few people who were outdoors bustled about quickly and with purpose, wanting to spend as little time outside as possible.

For the past 3 weeks thick, dark clouds had rolled over the countryside, threatening to drench the land below in a deluge of rain. Strangely enough, however, the rain never came. A constant, unnaturally cool wind blew through the neighborhood, on account of which the residents of Privet Drive sat huddled in their houses doing their best to keep the cold out. All of the residents except for one, anyway.

Harry Potter was an odd boy on many accounts. To his neighbors on Privet Drive he was a scruffy looking loner who lived with the Dursley's and attended St. Brutus's Secure Center for Criminally Incurable Boys. To his fellow students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry he was the mysterious, self-effacing Gryffindor who seemed to always be at the center of everything. To anyone who could see him at this moment, however, he would simply be the brooding, morose young man in a dark, empty room who didn't have enough sense to shut the window.

Harry lay on the bed with his hands behind his head, shutting his eyes as another cool gust of wind blew over him. His school trunk sat open next to the bed, most of its contents still inside. For the most part it looked like the trunk of someone who had just returned from a trip and hadn't had time to unpack yet. Harry's bedroom window was opened as wide as it could go, welcoming the cold, wet air the neighbors were so intent to keep out. Despite the lack of light coming from outside, none of the lights in the room were on, hiding much of the room in shadow. The darkness, coupled with the chill air constantly flooding through the window, gave the place an intensely morose, gloomy atmosphere. Harry preferred the room this way: It matched his mood perfectly.

It had been a miserable 3 weeks at the Dursley's already. Harry felt a dull, throbbing emptiness inside from the death of Sirius. Having nothing to do but sit at Privet Drive and think about it definitely didn't help either. He had spent most of the summer inside his room, coming out only to stretch his legs or use the bathroom.

As Harry stared at the ceiling he thought about the night he had first met Sirius. They had been walking out of the Shrieking Shack and Sirius had just asked Harry if he wanted to live with him… A sudden flutter of wings snapped Harry from his reverie. A large, snowy white owl lit upon the windowsill with an enthusiastic hoot.

Harry slowly turned onto his side and glanced dully up at Hedwig.

"Welcome back." he muttered.

Harry rose lethargically from his bed and walked over to Hedwig. She had brought two items: a folded up newspaper and a letter. She looked at Harry with her large, amber eyes, waiting for a sign of appreciation.

Harry, not noticing, blankly took the items and slouched back down on his bed.

He looked at the newspaper first: today's _Daily Prophet_. Harry unfolded it and glanced uninterestedly at the headline.

**You-Know-Who Strikes at Muggle Sporting Event**

Ministry Forced to Modify Over 3000 Muggle Memories

Folding the paper back up, Harry lobbed it into the far corner of the room where it joined a number of other unread Daily Prophets. A good-sized pile was beginning to form.

Funny, he mused to himself. Last summer he had been so desperate for any news of Voldemort that he had scrounged through rubbish bins and hid in bushes. Now, nearly every day brought a new headline about Voldemort, and he didn't care enough to even open the paper. He didn't care much about anything since Sirius had died…

He apathetically picked up the letter Hedwig had brought and opened it. It was from Hermione.

Hello Harry! Nothing new to report since yesterday. Nothing you couldn't have read for yourself in the Daily Prophet, anyway. I'm concerned about you Harry. Your letters are so short and you never say anything more than "I'm ok". I know you probably don't want to talk about Sirius, Harry, but…

Harry stopped and folded up the letter. He didn't really feel like reading it right now.

Unlike other summers he had spent at the Dursley's, this summer had brought Harry an almost continual stream of letters. Hermione, Ron and Ginny wrote the most often. Fred and George wrote him periodically with updates on Weasley's Wizarding Whizzes. They seemed to be doing extremely well. Neville Longbottom had also written a couple times. His letters were usually awkward and he would thank Harry repeatedly for all he had learned in the DA. Lupin had sent a few, they contained old pictures of Harry's dad back in their Hogwarts days along with funny stories and pranks the Marauders had pulled off. Harry noted that Sirius was conspicuously absent from the pictures, as if Lupin thought seeing his dead godfather would make Harry even sadder. He was right.

A few others would send an occasional letter as well: Tonks, Luna Lovegood, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Even Mad-Eye Moody had added a quick note at the end of Tonks's last letter: "Keep your eyes peeled Potter. Remember, if you ever are attacked at Privet Drive, that cousin of yours would make a pretty good shield." Harry couldn't tell if the old auror was joking or not.

Harry was grateful for all the letters- it definitely made the summer more enjoyable, but they could only help so much. The fact remained that Harry was still stuck in Privet Drive with the Dursley's, memories of Sirius's death still fresh in his mind. He now knew why he had to stay here over the summer, but it didn't make it any easier.

Harry reached into his trunk and pulled out an old shoebox. Inside he kept every letter he had ever received from the wizarding world. He had found earlier that rereading past letters helped him make it through the stay at Privet Drive.

As he placed Hermione's letter on top of the stack, his eyes fell on a faded, torn letter sticking out at the bottom of the box. Harry could just make out part of the note. It was hastily written and in handwriting Harry hadn't seen for quite some time.

It was Sirius's.

The sorrow Harry held continually in the pit of his stomach intensified. He had forgotten that he still had Sirius's old letters. As he looked at the letter a familiar yearning grew in him, a yearning for any memory or contact from Sirius, even if it was a letter written before he had been killed.

Reaching into the bottom of the box, Harry grabbed the letter and pulled it out. It was more of a short note than a letter. He had just begun to read when he heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs outside the door; someone was coming to see him. He reached for the box of letters and closed the lid, unknowingly dropping Sirius's note on the floor.

Knock, Knock, Knock.

The door opened and a burst of light flooded through. Harry squinted in the brightness. The tall, slender form of his aunt stood in the doorway, holding what looked like a dinner plate.

Aunt Petunia paused awkwardly in the doorway for a moment.

"Your uncle and I are leaving for the remainder of the day."

Harry didn't answer.

"I've brought you some dinner."

She walked slowly into the room and set a plate of food on a desk near the door. As the top of the desk was already cluttered similar plates, Aunt Petunia took some time clearing a space. Very little of the food had been touched.

She walked back to the doorway and paused again, as if considering what to say.

"Er… don't leave the home, Harry." Aunt Petunia said in a voice that was softer than normal, though it still retained some of her usual curtness.

Harry thought she wanted to say more, but after another pause Aunt Petunia turned and walked away, shutting the door behind her.

The Dursley's hadn't been especially bad to Harry this summer. Indeed, it had probably been the most civil time he had ever spent with them. Uncle Vernon, most likely on account of the threat from Mad-Eye Moody, no longer bellowed up from downstairs for Harry to come eat. Come to think of it, he had only seen Uncle Vernon 2 or 3 times the whole summer, Harry thought to himself. Owing to the dementors the previous summer, Dudley was more scared of Harry than ever. He pretty much stayed quiet whenever Harry entered the room, which was very seldom. The biggest change, however, was in Aunt Petunia. She kept making strange, almost friendly gestures to Harry, like bringing food to his room and asking if he would like to watch the news. Harry found all this very awkward and preferred to stay in his room.

Harry heard the sound of car doors opening and closing. Looking out of his open window he saw the pair drive away in their car.

"Don't leave the house Harry." Aunt Petunia's words echoed in his head. She didn't need to tell me that, he thought. I don't feel like going outside any more than I feel like being in here. But as he looked out the window and saw the wind blow through the trees, he decided that leaving the house was a pretty good idea. It had been a while since he had felt the wind in his face…

His mind made up Harry walked to his bedroom door, threw it open, trounced down the stairs, and walked straight out the front door.

Even though it was dark and cloudy, Harry still had to squint as he walked into the outdoor air. He hadn't been outside for at least a week. A cold blast of wind hit him in the face, blowing his hair back. Harry stopped, closed his eyes and took a deep breath: for a second it reminded him of flying…

He resumed his walk, not quite sure where he was going. It felt good just to be outside, even though it was somewhat cold. Besides, Aunt Petunia wanting him to stay inside the house seemed to be reason enough to leave.

Dumbledore wouldn't want me out here either…said a small voice in his head, the voice he usually attributed to Hermione.

He brushed it off and kept walking.

Suddenly a yell broke out above the wind.

"Harry! Harry stop!"

Harry turned. It was Dudley. He was calling from the doorway of number 4 and started running towards Harry..

Dudley, though not in terrific running shape, had continued to grow stronger and more formidable on account of his boxing training. Despite the chubbiness, there was now a sort of raw athleticism to his movements, almost like a bear.

"You're not supposed to go anywhere. Mom told me not to let you leave." Dudley gasped between breaths. His face wore an unusual expression that Harry couldn't quite place. It was something like a mix of anger, fear, and… concern?

"Yeah, well, I'm going, and you're not going to stop me." Harry turned back around and stalked off.

"Harry! Harry…please?"

"Go away Dudley!" Harry quickened his pace.

"Stop! Come on!" Dudley began to rumble after Harry again.

Harry began to be really annoyed. Since when did Dudley care about what he did? Harry looked back at him: it was all he could do just to keep up. A cruel idea came into his head.

"Well come on then, Big D! Let's go for a walk!" Harry shouted. He smiled to himself and broke into a run. Dudley had always been bigger and a harder puncher, but Harry had always been faster. He was looking forward to seeing how long Dudley could keep it up.

When he reached the end of Privet Drive Harry took a right onto Magnolia Crescent. Houses blurred past him and he took his next left. After sprinting down that street Harry stopped to catch his breath. He was on the western border of an open park.

Looking behind him for any trace of Dudley, Harry saw only open street. He had lost him.

Harry chuckled to himself and continued walking. To his right was the park; empty, swings swaying gently in the wind. A row of houses lined the street to the left. About 30 yards ahead on his right was another road that intersected with the one he was on.

Thinking he would turn down that street next, Harry swept his eyes over the road to see where it went. Three figures walking along the road toward him caught his eye. They were moving slowly and kept looking around, as if they weren't sure where they were or where to go. Two of the figures were big and clumsy, and lumbered slightly behind the third. The person in front, Harry could notice even from this distance, walked with a haughty, superior stride, as if everything in his surroundings disgusted him.

Harry stopped in his tracks. He knew that swagger anywhere.

Draco Malfoy.


	2. Draco's Detour

(A/N- J.K. Rowling owns all the characters, locations, and history in this chapter. She even owns the chapter title.)

Chapter 2

Draco's Detour

Harry was completely astonished. Draco Malfoy and his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, were walking down a street in Little Whinging, no more than a few blocks from Privet Drive. It seemed like a strange dream. Last summer Harry had seen dementors in Little Whinging, but seeing Malfoy strut down a street in a Muggle neighborhood he had grown up in was no less bizarre.

Immediately his adrenaline began to rush. Harry knew exactly what Malfoy and his two pet gorillas had come here for: revenge. Towards the end of the previous school year all three of their Death Eater-fathers had been sent to prison because of him.

Strangely enough, Harry was almost glad to see them. After nearly a month of sitting indoors he would finally have something to break up the monotony. Besides, they weren't the only ones who had lost someone at the Ministry two months ago…

A dangerous smile on his face, Harry reached for his wand. It wasn't there. Frantically, he searched his other pockets. Nothing. He suddenly remembered leaving it in the trunk next to his bed in Privet Drive.

He felt a small twinge of panic- How could he take on Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle without a wand? His mind worked furiously, trying to come up with a plan. They hadn't seen him yet, but in about 20 more seconds they would turn the corner and he would be in plain view. They would definitely come at him then. Without a wand he didn't have much hope of winning a fight; Crabbe and Goyle were still obnoxiously large for their age and Malfoy would be sure to play dirty. He could run…

As soon as the idea entered his head Harry felt disgusted with himself. Run? From Malfoy? He would rather get beat up. Not knowing what he would do, Harry started for the three Slytherins. Wand or no wand, he wasn't about to back down from them.

He turned the corner and made a beeline straight for them. He got closer and closer. They still hadn't seen him, despite the fact that he was directly in front of them. He was no more than a few yards away now…

It was actually Goyle who spotted him first. Harry could see his brow furrow in confusion as he realized someone was walking towards them. Malfoy's head was turned, looking at the houses around him, and Crabbe was concentrating on his feet, apparently trying not to trip. Comprehension slowly broke on Goyle's dull face when he realized who it was. Arm pointing, face lit up with astonishment, he had just begun to speak when Harry beat him to it:

"If you're looking for your father, Malfoy, he's in Azkaban. It's a prison for people who are cowardly, slimy gits."

Malfoy flinched horribly at the sight of Harry, a look of supreme surprise on his face. Apparently he had been too busy looking at the Muggle neighborhood in disgust to notice anything else.

Harry turned to Crabbe and Goyle before Malfoy could compose himself.

"Crabbe, Goyle, your dads are in Azkaban too. Although if they're as slow as you are, they probably haven't realized it yet."

Crabbe had just figured out what was going on when Malfoy blurted out in a rage:

"I found you Potter! I'm here to show you what happens to Half-Bloods who meddle with the Dark Lo- with my fam- with the noble house of Malfoy!" He sputtered out.

Malfoy then began a rant that Harry found quite hard to follow. He noticed phrases about Pure-Bloods and cleansing the wizard race, but Malfoy was so furious he kept stumbling over his words, as if he had been rehearsing this speech for a while and wanted to get it right. It reminded Harry of a school play where the kid couldn't get his lines right.

Harry savored the moment before interrupting:

"Sorry to break up your little speech Malfoy, but your dad got exactly what he deserved. Now get out of here; the Muggles don't like slime like you in their streets."

"You're dead Potter!" Malfoy spat, face trembling with rage. "I told you you'd pay for what you've done to my father, and now I'm here to do it!"

Harry wasn't sure how he was going to get out of this one; he had never seen Malfoy so angry. And without his wand there wasn't much Harry could do. Unless…

Harry threw his arms out, baring his chest to Malfoy.

"Go ahead then, curse me Malfoy!" Harry roared "Do it! It would be worth it to see you expelled from Hogwarts. I reckon your dad can't bribe anyone from where he is. Go ahead!"

Malfoy immediately went for his wand. He was so mad he fumbled in his robes for a while.

Harry cursed himself for leaving his wand behind. He could have had it out and cursed the whole lot of them by now.

Finally Malfoy whipped his wand out and pointed it straight at Harry's chest, a triumphant look on his face. Harry looked into his eyes and realized something: Draco was waiting for him to show fear…it was his favorite weapon.

Instead, Harry grinned back with what he hoped was a good imitation of the grin he had seen on Sirius's face whenever anything risky or particularly dangerous was mentioned.

"Come on Malfoy, let's see it!" he challenged.

Malfoy hesitated. The triumphant look on his face faded, although the sneer remained. Slowly he lowered his wand.

"No. No, I won't give you the pleasure, Potter. I'm going to be around Hogwarts to the end, just to cause you misery." He looked at Crabbe and Goyle who had been watching the whole time. Suddenly, he smiled.

"You know, we don't need magic to have a little fun with you, Potter. I think Crabbe and Goyle here are anxious to give you a Muggle-style pounding, in honor of your upbringing." He smiled maliciously.

Crabbe and Goyle began to flex their arms, looking at Harry with dumb grins on their faces. As they moved forward, Harry clenched his fists, ready for the fight. He may be able to get in a couple good punches…

The pounding of heavy footsteps behind him made Harry spin around. Crabbe and Goyle halted. It was Dudley.

"Harry…there you are…please…come back home…Mom will be angry if you're not there…" he panted as he stopped next to Harry. His face was bright red and dripped with sweat.

Harry was taken aback. He had never heard Dudley say please to anyone, much less him.

Malfoy's sneering voice interrupted: "Who is this great lump of a Muggle?" he demanded to no one in particular.

Dudley looked up, just noticing the three strangers talking with Harry. "Who are they Harry?" he asked, puzzled.

"It's one of Potter's Muggle relatives!" Malfoy boomed. "He's even bigger and stupider than the rest of the trash we've seen walking around here." Malfoy remarked to chuckles from Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry noticed Dudley' jaw clench and his great, meaty hand form a fist. Dudley's eyes quickly looked over the trio; he was sizing up Crabbe and Goyle.

"These are the biggest prats at my school, Dudley." Harry said, finding he was very annoyed at him. His cousin's arrival had made the situation even trickier than before: if Dudley got hurt Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would undoubtedly blame Harry.

Dudley stepped back, terrified.

"They're…they're…wizards?" He asked in a trembling voice. He instinctively started rubbing one hand over his rear end.

Malfoy, seeing the fear in Dudley's plump face and his odd reaction at the mention of Harry's school, caught on immediately. He stepped forward menacingly.

"That's right, you great, lumbering oaf, I'm a wizard!" Malfoy drawled. "And if you don't want me to give you a pig's head to match that pig snout of yours, you'd better run back to your pig mother and let us deal with Potter."

By pure luck Malfoy had said the exact thing most likely to petrify Dudley. The first time Dudley had ever encountered a wizard he had left the encounter with a curly pig's tail coming out of his shorts. Whimpering, he took another step behind Harry, grabbing his arm in fright.

"Oh stop it, Dudley!" Harry said testily. They can't use magic out of school, they'll be expelled." Harry suddenly felt the Dudley's grip on his arm loosen.

"They, they can't use m-magic?" Dudley asked slowly.

"No! Now quit whining like a baby." Harry's mind continued to race, trying to come up with a plan.

"Enough of this! Go on Crabbe, Goyle. Teach this Half-Blood and his filthy pet Muggle a lesson." Malfoy sneered impatiently.

What happened next was so fast that Harry hardly knew what had happened. Goyle, being the closest, suddenly lurched at Dudley and Harry. Dudley's right arm bolted out in a quick, straight jab that caught Goyle right in the face. A split-second later he followed up with a thundering left hook that knocked Goyle off his feet. Goyle lay sprawled on the ground, out cold.

Harry, Crabbe and Malfoy watched in amazement as Dudley sprang into boxing mode. His large, meaty fists were raised in front of him and he began hopping back and forth, surprisingly agile for such a large person. He danced around Crabbe in a small half-circle, face screwed up in an intense scowl and watching his every move like a hawk.

Crabbe, completely bewildered, looked back at Malfoy for direction.

"What are you waiting for? Get him! He's a _Muggle_!" Malfoy yelled.

Suddenly Dudley sprang in, caught Crabbe with two quick jabs to the face, then sprang nimbly away. Crabbe staggered back a couple steps, nose bleeding, then charged furiously at Dudley, who quickly sidestepped and landed another punch to Crabbe's torso.

Harry couldn't help but be impressed. Dudley was obviously a good fighter, maybe even as good as he was always going on about. Crabbe, who had only picked on smaller wizards his whole life, was entirely at a loss on how to deal with a trained Muggle fighter. Dudley continued to dart in and out of Crabbe's clumsy movements, landing punch after punch. It was enormously entertaining.

Harry took a quick glance at Malfoy, who was also watching Dudley in awe and amazement. It occurred to Harry that Malfoy, growing up in a Wizard family that despised Muggles, probably had no idea that anything like boxing existed. He just stood there gaping, that arrogant little sneer still on his face. Harry hated that sneer…

Before he knew what he was doing, Harry had launched himself at Malfoy. He saw Malfoy's eyes open as big as dinner plates before Harry's fist smashed into his chin. Draco reeled backwards and Harry was on him in a flash. Pure rage took over: a month trapped in Privet Drive; Sirius's death; the prophecy; 5 years of putting up with Malfoy- Harry let every frustration, anger and injustice he was feeling inside pour out on Malfoy like a thundering waterfall.

It was over in two minutes. Crabbe had run back down the street they had come from, crying and pleading for Dudley to relent the entire way. Goyle was still on the ground in a spread-eagle. Several yards away was Malfoy, moaning and with blood coming from a deep gash on his chin. A black eye had begun to form on his pale face.

Harry watched Malfoy squirm on the ground as the exhilaration of the fight slowly evaporated. Inside he felt a deep satisfaction: his knee had been skinned pretty badly, his hands was bruised from repeated contact with Malfoy's body, but he hadn't felt so alive in months.

Dudley was still breathing heavily. He looked at the crumpled form of Malfoy with cold anger on his face, his great chest swelling like a bellows with each breath.

Harry couldn't help but look at Dudley with a newfound admiration. Watching him beat seven kinds of crap out of Crabbe and Goyle demanded it. Still exhilarated, he slapped Dudley on the back.

"That was brilliant, Dudley, brilliant! You really are amazing, you know that?" he gawked at Dudley.

"That skinny wimp insulted my mother. Lucky for him you got to him first. I would have torn him apart." Dudley muttered. Harry believed him.

The image of Crabbe running for his life, bawling like a 5 year-old came to Harry's mind and he laughed out loud. It had been a while since he had laughed. It felt good. He couldn't wait to tell Ron what had happened. The thought made him laugh even harder.

Just then Harry heard a dog barking. It suddenly occurred to him that they had gotten into a big fight in the middle of a neighborhood. People were bound to come out soon.

"Come on Dudley," he said. "We better get going." Dudley paused for a moment, giving Malfoy one last scowl, then turned and joined Harry. The two took off for Privet Drive.

"Hey Harry." Dudley muttered as they jogged.

"Yeah?"

"Good punch on blondie back there."


	3. The Letter From Sirius

**Chapter 3**

**The Letter From Sirius**

Harry returned to Number 4 that evening feeling on top of the world. Anxious to write the letter to Ron he sprinted up the stairs to his bedroom, burst through the door, and was halfway to the writing desk when a small, folded bit of parchment lying on the ground caught his eye.

At first he thought someone from the magical world was trying to contact him, until he realized it was the old note from Sirius he had been about to read earlier that day. He must have dropped it when Aunt Petunia had come to his room.

This unexpected reminder of his dead Godfather hit Harry like a slap in the face. His arms dropped lifelessly to his sides. Malfoy's wand fell from his limp fingers, spitting out a few green sparks as it hit the ground. The feeling of exhilaration he had since the fight disappeared in an instant, replaced by the familiar, cold, hollow feeling he had had all summer.

Sirius was dead. Who cared about Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, or anything else? His world had been shattered that night, the only person he cared about ripped from him. He would never hear from Sirius again. Unless…

Slowly, tremulously, Harry walked to where the note was laying and picked it up. He had stopped breathing and his hands were shaking. Despite the fact that he had probably read it many times, Harry found himself stunned and unable to open the letter. For some strange reason it felt like Sirius was reaching out to him, like he wanted to tell him something. Maybe it was written in this letter…

After a long pause Harry was finally able to compose himself. Heart pounding and still holding his breath, he unfolded the note and read it:

_Send date of next Hogsmeade visit._

Confused at first, Harry looked awkwardly at the note, read it again, then exhaled in disappointment. He didn't know what he had expected. Definitely something more meaningful than "Send date of next Hogsmeade visit." He sank back down on the bed.

I'm going crazy…

A small part of him had thought Sirius was contacting him from the other side…it was just a stupid note and here he was getting excited like some chit of a girl getting her first love letter…

Falling back on the bed so he was laying cross-wise, Harry thought back to when he had received this letter.

It had been his fourth year. Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, had entered him into the Triwizard Tournament and Harry was about to compete in the second task. He had been enormously stressed at the time, largely due to the fact that he was about to be thrust into the icy cold depths of Hogwarts lake and still had no idea how he was going to live through it. He had sent Sirius a letter bemoaning this and a dozen other traumas, and the next day he received this reply:

_Send date of next Hogsmeade visit._

Sirius was coming to Hogsmeade to see him.

Harry had been disappointed when he had received the note for two reasons: one, it had been the shortest letter Sirius had ever written and Harry had been expecting something much longer, and two, it meant that Sirius was leaving the safety of wherever he had been hiding and coming to Hogsmeade, where he was risking being caught by the ministry and given to the dementors.

He looked down at the note again.

_Send date of next Hogsmeade visit._

Harry thought of Sirius traveling hundreds of miles, doing his best to not be detected, only to hide in a tiny, cramped cave where he lived off rats; all so he could be closer to Harry. Somehow this image brought a smile to Harry's face: Sirius had never been the sort to sit around and do nothing. Not like he had been doing for the past few weeks…

A sudden, uncomfortable guilt began to creep over Harry. He couldn't help but think—Sirius would never sit around and mope like this. And it would be the absolute last thing he would want Harry to do! Sirius would want him to fight, to get revenge for both his and James's death, to use this time to study and prepare for Voldemort. In fact, if Sirius could see him right now he would probably swear at him and start his bed on fire, just to get him off his rear end and doing something.

This realization stunned Harry. It was true, no wonder he had felt so good after beating up Malfoy: it was the only real thing he had accomplished in weeks! He had just begun to feel ashamed of himself when the whiny, sulking part of himself interrupted his thoughts:

Yeah, but Sirius didn't know what it's like to be trapped with the Dursley's. He didn't know what it's like to lose your parents _and_ the only person you could consider family. No one has it as hard as him, and if he wanted to be sad then he definitely had a right to.

Harry felt a little less guilty after thinking this, although there was still a doubtful, uneasy feeling there. Another realization hit him:

Sirius had grown up in a horrible family. He had left when only 16-years old to live with his best friend, Harry's father, who had been murdered. Sirius then spent 13 years locked up in prison with the vilest and most evil creatures imaginable for a crime he didn't commit, and the entire world, including his own godson, thought he was a deranged killer.

Suddenly Harry didn't feel so sorry for himself. The guilty feeling came back as he realized even more:

Sirius knew exactly what it felt like to lose family. He had also gone through a dozen other things just as bad, things that Harry would never know about. If ever anyone had a right to feel sorry for himself, it had been Sirius Black. But instead he got on with his life and fought for the people he cared about. He had fought for Harry until the very end…

The tears began to flow.

A final realization hit Harry; this one the most unbearable of all: Voldemort and his Death Eaters were on the loose and growing stronger: hurting people, killing people! And Harry, the only one who could stop him, had been sulking in his room, doing NOTHING.

How could he sit around and let evil people hurt the innocent any longer?

He glanced at the note one last time:

_Send date of next Hogsmeade visit._

Perhaps Sirius had been trying to talk with Harry afterall…

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter burst into tears.

Harry lay on his bed in stunned silence for several hours before getting up, turning on the lamp, and writing a very long letter to Hermione.


	4. A Change in Attitude

**Chapter 4**

**Contact from the Magical World**

The next few days were different for Harry. Though he couldn't help but still feel sad about the loss of Sirius, he found that it was much more bearable if he just kept busy. He also felt considerably better after having let all his feelings out in the letter to Hermione.

First, he sat down and wrote to everyone else who had sent him a letter that summer. Ron's had been especially long, as Harry had wanted to give a blow-by-blow account of the encounter with Malfoy. His only regret was that he couldn't see the look on Ron's face as he read it.

Next, Harry tackled the pile of unread Daily Prophets that had grown steadily larger in the corner of the room. He was surprised to find that quite a bit had been going on—even more than he had thought. The overall gist of it was that Voldemort had been very active and the wizarding world was in an absolute a state of panic. Nearly everyday brought a headline detailing some new attack.

Harry noticed something odd about all these attacks, however. They all seemed to be aimed at Muggles—football games, train stations, and rock concerts especially seemed to be targets—and strangely enough there were very few deaths or injuries. It was as if Voldemort and the Death Eaters just wanted to toy around with public fear.

The papers also mentioned Dumbledore quite frequently, and always as though he were some hero that could make the whole mess with Voldemort go away. Harry found his own name brought up almost as often, and in much the same way. Considering the type of coverage he and Dumbledore had received the previous year, Harry found this sudden turn of opinion sickening.

One front page article from a week previous cheered him up though. The moving black and white photograph showed a terrified Cornelius Fudge running for his life from—Harry couldn't quite believe it—a giant, flying monkey. There were dozens and dozens of wizards and witches in the background (most of whom were pointing and laughing). It appeared to have been taken in the main lobby of the Ministry building. Completely baffled, Harry read the article.

_**Minister of Magic Thrown Out Of Office**_

_Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic for the past 6 years, has resigned following intense public pressure after the discovery of You-Know-Who's return. Last year Fudge continually denied rumors that You-Know-Who had returned, until several eye-witnesses, including Fudge himself, witnessed his appearance at the Ministry building itself (for a full account see page 4)._

_In addition to Fudge, several upper-level staff members have also been dismissed, including Head of International Relations Wulfric Dalthrop and Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge, who enjoyed a brief stint as Hogwarts Headmistress last year. In a rather fitting ceremony, Ex-Minister Fudge was chased from his office by a giant, fiery monkey (which bore a strange resemblance to Fudge himself), emitting strange grunting sounds as the terrified Ex-Minister ran for his life. This strange display was cheered on by close to a hundred onlookers, an angry mob which had assembled to physically oust Fudge from office but was beaten to it by the giant monkey. The origin of the monkey is currently unknown._

_While under current legislation the public does not have authority to oust the Minister of Magic, the Wizengamot is expected to make the dismissal official later today._

_Meanwhile, many are calling for Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to replace Fudge as Minister of Magic immediately. Dumbledore, who was the target of a lengthy smear campaign directed by Ex-Minister Fudge last year, has yet to comment._

Harry laughed out loud as he ripped off the front page of the paper and hung it on the wall. Fudge had spent the last year trying to convince the public that he and Dumbledore were crazy, and it was good to see him finally get what he deserved. That part about the giant monkey was a little confusing though…

Once he had read through the Daily Prophets, Harry got out his old school books and began to study. Using a small stick roughly the size of his own wand that he had found in the backyard, he practiced wand movements and incantations, thinking if he couldn't use magic he could at least practice it.

On top of the letter writing, studying, and practicing spells, Harry finished each day by sitting on his bed, taking some deep breaths and trying his best to clear his mind of emotion. This was a practice that Snape had assigned him the year before when he was supposed to be learning Occlumency, but Harry had never really tried too hard at. It had been difficult to put aside his feelings at the time (he still felt a surge of anger every time he thought of Snape), but now, seeing the importance of learning Occlumency, Harry was determined to do everything he could.

The truth was he felt responsible for what had happened in the Department of Mysteries. A pang of guilt and regret hit him every time he thought of it. If he had really worked on Occlumency like he was supposed to, Voldemort never would have given him that phony vision, he never would have shown up at the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius would still be alive today. Then there was the fact that his friends had been willing to follow him, had been willing to risk their own lives to help Harry, and he had nearly gotten them killed because he was too stupid to realize it was a trick. He would never, NEVER, do anything that stupid again.

Harry also decided he might as well join the Dursley's for meals. It was obvious that Uncle Vernon preferred the brooding, morose Harry who stayed shut up in his room over the new Harry who joined them for meals. Knowing this made Harry want to show up even more, for, despite his annoyance with Harry, Uncle Vernon did his best to make forced, semi-polite conversation for fear of Mad-Eye Moody walking through the door and turning his first-born son into a goat. Moody's threat at King's Cross Station at the end of term worked like a charm, and Harry loved to see Uncle Vernon squirm:

"So, did you have a nice day?" Uncle Vernon asked Harry over his kidney pie one evening. His tone of voice made it obvious that the niceness of Harry's day was the last thing he cared about.

"Oh yeah. I got loads done today." Harry replied brightly.

"Really?" Uncle Vernon said with a smirk. "Like what?"

"Well, once I finished my chores I practiced magic with an old stick I found in the backyard, then I thought I would see if I couldn't saw one of Mrs. Figg's cats in half." Harry replied casually. "Turns out it's not nearly as easy as that bloke on the TV makes it out to be." He added despairingly, shaking his head.

Uncle Vernon choked on the potato he had just put in his mouth, and after hacking it back onto his plate glared at Harry.

"It's for my school talent show." He added, loving the fact that Uncle Vernon was never sure if he was joking or not.

One Saturday morning, however, Uncle Vernon was pushed too far. The family had gathered for breakfast (minus Dudley, who had gone to a "slumber party" at a friend's place the night before) and Uncle Vernon was in the middle of a rant about a tax hike he had read about in paper.

Harry was just about to grab some bacon and go up to his room to study when there was a tremendous CRACK, followed by the sound of shattered glass.

Uncle Vernon was so startled he jumped in his chair, arm sweeping the table in front of him and sending his plate of pancakes to the floor in a loud crash. Aunt Petunia shrieked.

Looking around for the source of the crash, Harry saw a large, brown owl fluttering around in the sink, apparently trying to orientate itself. He had never seen this owl before, and it looked much bigger than a typical Hogwarts owls.

"AHHHGHRR! I've told you, NO OWLS AT MY HOUSE!" Uncle Vernon bellowed at Harry. He was breathing deeply, his right hand clenched over his chest as though he were about to have a heart attack.

"Like I can just stop them! Honestly…" Harry retorted in exasperation as he walked towards the owl. It was quite a sight: The entire window had been destroyed, lying in broken fragments all over the sink and floor. The owl appeared to be all right; it had just hopped onto the rim of the sink and stood staring at Harry with its large brown eyes. Harry noticed the owl was carrying a large letter.

Uncle Vernon spoke, "Well if you would kindly advise your little friends not to send their great, dirty birds smashing through my kitchen window in the future, I would be very…appreciative." The words were very slow and deliberate, as if it were all he could do to keep from yelling at Harry.

"I'll do that." Harry snapped back. He was just as confused as Uncle Vernon; usually the owls came to his bedroom window. He was just reached out to remove the letter from the owl's leg when it gave a loud hoot, hopped off the counter and swooped away from Harry towards…Uncle Vernon?

Aunt Petunia gasped and Uncle Vernon flinched. The owl dropped the letter at his feet, swooped back through the kitchen past Harry, shot out the open window and was gone.

A tense silence followed as the three of them looked down at the letter. From his vantage point Harry could just make out the writing:

**Vernon Dursley**

**The Kitchen**

**Number 4 Privet Drive**

Uncle Vernon, clearly ruffled, hesitated before bending over and picking up the letter. Aunt Petunia looked extremely apprehensive. Harry remembered the Howler she had received from Dumbledore last summer. Was this letter from Dumbledore too? Why would he be writing Uncle Vernon? Maybe it was from Moody, just to remind Uncle Vernon he was watching. An enormous owl unexpectedly smashing through the kitchen window would definitely be his style.

Uncle Vernon opened the letter and began to read. Aunt Petunia craned her long horse neck over his shoulder to join him. They both read silently, frowning, then, after a few seconds, simultaneously gasped in disbelief. After the gasp the two read on furiously, Uncle Vernon's face slowly turning purple and Aunt Petunia's mouth open in pure astonishment.

By this point Harry was extremely curious to know what would merit such a reaction out of his Aunt and Uncle. It was obviously about him…Maybe he was leaving. A feeling of hope and excitement burst in his chest.

"What does it say?" He asked, his voice ringing through the silence.

Uncle Vernon put down the letter, which Aunt Petunia hurriedly picked up and continued reading, her eyes darting back and forth. Uncle Vernon looked shocked and somewhat angry. He slowly turned his head to look at Aunt Petunia, who had just finished the letter and looked back at her husband, mouth still hanging open.

Feeling that this wasn't a good time to be ignored, Harry spoke up even louder. "What does it SAY?"

Still looking at Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon's face twisted into a sneer of anger. "Why, of all the…" his voice lowered to a growl that Harry couldn't quite understand. Aunt Petunia, who was even more shocked at her husband's reaction, spoke back in quick, hurried tones. The two went back and forth, all the time Uncle Vernon looking angrier and Petunia more confused.

Harry couldn't stand it anymore.

"WHAT DOES IT SAY?" he demanded.

Uncle Vernon looked up at Harry, huffed, then, holding out a sealed envelope smaller than the first he spoke,

"It says, _boy_…that I am to give you this."


	5. The Madness of Uncle Vernon

**Chapter 5**

**The Madness of Uncle Vernon**

Harry looked at the letter in his hands. No address had been written on it, apparently it had been stuck in the larger envelope addressed to Uncle Vernon. Looking up at Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, Harry noticed they weren't as interested in his letter as they were in Uncle Vernon's; they were still speaking to one another in quick, subdued tones.

Curious, Harry opened the letter. It was from Dumbledore.

_Hello Harry, I hope your summer has been-bearable._

_I apologize for not contacting you before now. As you have probably guessed, we have been quite busy and this is the first opportunity I have had to do so. I would like to ask you to leave Privet Drive and join me. I cannot disclose the location at the moment, but I believe it is a place you would very much like to visit._

_I understand if you are not yet ready to speak to me or are not yet willing to reenter our world and take the pressures that wait you here. I ask only for the chance to make up for 15 years of keeping you in the dark._

_Tomorrow evening at precisely 5:00 I will provide a means for you to leave Privet Drive. If you would like to leave use this means. If not, I understand._

_Sincerely_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry felt a twinge of guilt: The part about understanding if Harry didn't want to talk to him reminded Harry that his last meeting with the Headmaster had involved a lot of yelling on his part and the near total destruction of the office. He hadn't really been mad at Dumbledore himself; he was just the only person around at the moment. Harry had later admitted to himself, albeit grudgingly, that Dumbledore really was doing what he thought best and he had no right to be mad at him. That was also the day he told Harry about the prophecy…

Harry resolved to apologize to Dumbledore when he saw him the next day.

This still didn't explain Uncle Vernon's reaction to the first letter, however. Harry got a feeling that there was something else written in it…

The thought was forgotten in a moment, however. He was leaving Privet Drive! The excitement began to build up as he thought about where he would be going. Perhaps the Burrow…No, the Burrow wouldn't be safe, most likely he would be sent to Grimwauld Place. It was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix and probably the safest place outside of Hogwarts itself. Harry wasn't sure how he would feel about returning to Grimwauld Place after the death of Sirius, but anything was better than being stuck in Privet Drive.

Thinking he'd better get packed, Harry folded up the letter and made for the staircase.

"Well, I'll be leaving tomorrow." He mentioned to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon in passing.

On hearing the remark Aunt Petunia gasped and Uncle Vernon turned purple. Suddenly they were very interested in him.

"What? Tomorrow? I've heard nothing of this!" Uncle Vernon sputtered.

Harry stopped in his tracks on seeing this reaction.

"Well that's what my letter said. Tomorrow at 5:00. I need to go pack." He started again towards the stairs.

"Now see here! You're not going anywhere, boy, until I see this…this Dooblydure, Doopendor—whatever his name is!" Uncle Vernon barked.

Something very strange is going on here, Harry thought to himself. Since when did the Dursley's care when he left, so long as he was gone? And why did Uncle Vernon want to see Dumbledore?

"Well I don't think he's coming." Harry replied tentatively.

"He'd better come, or you're not going!" Uncle Vernon snapped back. "What does the letter say? How are they going to fetch you?"

"It didn't say." Harry answered truthfully.

"Didn't say? Rubbish! Give me that letter." As he grabbed the letter out of Harry's hands, the envelope burst into a strange Blue flame. Uncle Vernon dropped it with a yelp.

"DAMN! What the devil?" He sputtered as the three watched the letter burn into ashes.

Uncle Vernon turned to Harry, his face screwed up in anger.

"Come on then, how're you going to leave this time?" Uncle Vernon demanded, a crazy look in his eye. "What will it be this time? Another flying car?" Foam had started to gather at the corners of his mouth. "A magical doorway opening up out of our pantry? The refrigerator sprouting wings and blasting you off to the moon? What's the plan to get you out of here this time?" Uncle Vernon was furious.

Harry looked back at him; half astonished, half amused with his behaviour. What had that letter said?

"Vernon, please! Calm down…"

"I WILL NOT CALM DOWN PETUNIA!" he shouted. "First we have that giant ogre littering our house with those accursed envelopes, then a flying Ford Anglia rips apart our window, THEN the boy makes a balloon out of Marge and runs off into the night, THEN that imbecile and his red-headed brats blow up our fireplace and Dudley nears chokes to death on his own tongue, and then, THEN Petunia, we travel halfway across the damn country for a lawn competition that DOESN'T EXIST!"

It had never really occurred to Harry, but Uncle Vernon was probably quite hurt when he found he hadn't won the award for the Best Kept Lawn last year.

He continued:

"NO. No. I've had it with tricks and magic and make-believe lawn contests and the whole lot of it!" Here he turned to face Harry, and emphasized each point by jabbing his stubby finger into Harry's chest.

"You tell that…_Headmaster_ of yours that if he wants you, he's going to have to stop by the house and call on us like a decent human being. And if he asks very politely, then maybe, MAYBE…we'll let you go."

"But, Uncle Vernon…"

"NO! You're not going anywhere until I meet the man who dumped you on our doorstep fifteen years ago!"

With that, he stomped out of the room.

Harry was slightly nervous the next day. Uncle Vernon was obviously upset and there was no way Harry was getting out of here with him like that. Whatever had been written in that first letter had really shocked Uncle Vernon, and Harry had no idea what it could have said.

On top of this, Dumbledore hadn't mentioned exactly HOW Harry would be leaving in the first place. Should he take the Knight Bus? Would somebody come to sneak him out like last year? The Floo network? Harry didn't know what to expect.

As he walked down the stairs for breakfast Uncle Vernon greeted Harry by saying,

"Remember—You're not going anywhere until I meet that man!" He sounded unnaturally chipper.

Evidently a night's rest hadn't lessened Uncle Vernon's determination one bit. He kept looking at Harry while they ate and muttered under his breath, "No more…not going until we have a chat…I'll be damned…after16 years…"

After finishing breakfast, Harry cleared his plate and decided to start his morning chore of weeding the front flower bed when Uncle Vernon's bellowing voice stopped him:

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING!"

"I'm going to weed the front garden LIKE YOU TOLD ME TOO!" Harry shouted back angrily.

Uncle Vernon rose from the table, napkin still tucked into his shirt, and scuttled towards Harry.

"No, no, I don't think you'll be going out there today, boy. Do you think I'm stupid?"

With the napkin tucked in his collar, bits of bacon and spit stuck in his mustache and that maniacal look in his eye, Harry thought it best not to answer that question.

"Fine!" Harry flopped onto the nearby sofa. "What are we going to do then? Shall we sit on the couch and stare at one another all day?"

Uncle Vernon grinned maliciously.


	6. Special Delivery

**Chapter 6**

**Special Delivery**

When Harry had ventured the suggestion of sitting on the couch all day and looking at each other, he had meant it as sarcasm. But here he was, two hours later, slumped forlornly on the sofa watching Uncle Vernon read a magazine on drills. It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation that Uncle Vernon had called into work sick today.

Having nothing else to do (his uncle absolutely forbade him from studying any of his "rubbish books" in the living room), Harry had become quite familiar with the couch. It was immaculately clean with a horrid brown and pink floral pattern that reminded him of vomit. He had spent the last hour playing with a row of gaudy pink tassels sticking out of its side. Aunt Petunia (who sat on a recliner next to Uncle Vernon doing her nails) had been surprisingly quiet the entire morning.

Other than the phone ringing once or twice and the milkman stopping by, it had been a rather uneventful morning. Harry couldn't think of when he had been more bored in his life. The only thing that kept him going was the memory of Dumbledore's letter, which had burned to ashes the day before. In it Dumbledore had mentioned sending him "somewhere he would very much like to visit", and Harry continued to rack his brain trying to figure out where that may be.

Harry wondered what Ron and Hermione were up to, hoping he would be able to see them soon.

Another grueling hour went by. Still no sign from Dumbledore. By this time Harry had moved from playing with the tassels to counting how many of the pictures on the wall were of Dudley holding some sort of food. He had counted 12 when a sudden knock at the door shattered the three hour long silence.

Uncle Vernon looked quickly up from his magazine, glanced shrewdly at Harry, then motioned for him to get the door with a quick jerk of his big head.

Harry rose and walked to the door, keenly aware of his uncle's eyes on the back of his head. His heart began to race as he placed his hand on the doorknob—he half expected to see Dumbledore on the other side, smiling at him…and pulled it open. Instead a woman in a Royal Mail uniform holding a small brown package stood looking blankly at him.

Harry's shoulders slumped in disappointment. It was probably some new kitchen appliance Aunt Petunia had ordered off TV, or another gift for Dudley. Harry turned to go back to the couch.

"Package for Mr. Harry Putter," said the mailwoman.

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned towards the woman. It had to be a mistake. Package? For him?

"Er…I'm Harry Putter…_Potter_," replied Harry, examining the delivery woman more carefully than the first time.

She was about his size and probably about 10 years older. Her dark black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and, as Harry looked closer, had a curious tint of blue to it. In one hand she held a clipboard, and in the other the small brown package. She was chewing bubble-gum and didn't look the least bit interested in Harry, the package, or anything else around her. Although he had never seen the woman in his life, Harry thought there was something oddly familiar about her…

"A package, is it…?" Uncle Vernon rudely pushed Harry to the side and stood in the doorway, eying the woman suspiciously. Harry could see the wheels slowly moving in his thick head, probably trying to determine if the small package could somehow sprout wings and fly Harry out of the house.

"And where is this…_packag_e …from, may I ask?" Uncle Vernon questioned the mail woman accusingly.

"Let me check," The woman replied disinterestedly and looked down at her clipboard. Harry examined her more closely. She had bright blue eyes, a small button nose, and a heart shaped face. He had seen the face before…

Then it registered: Tonks! Could it be? The face looked like her and the black-blue hair was definitely something she would do; the woman's voice even sounded a like hers. Still, he couldn't be sure…

The woman looked up from the clipboard.

"Weybridge, Surrey. Probably a recruitment package from Brooklands College. We've had a lot of them lately."

"Ah, of course. Go on then…" Uncle Vernon waved his hand, apparently appeased with the explanation. He left Harry with the woman and started back for the living room and his drill magazine.

"What nutter college would want him I have no idea…" Harry heard him mutter under his breath as he passed.

This was one time Harry had to agree with Uncle Vernon. What college would even i know /i about him?

The delivery woman spoke again:

"Yep, Brooklands College. It's on a street called 'Grimmauld Place," she added, holding out the clipboard for Harry to sign.

Harry started at hearing the name. Looking at the woman's face he noticed her lips twitch into a small smile.

Harry had to concentrate on the clipboard (which turned out to be just a blank sheet of paper) to keep from laughing out loud. It was definitely Tonks. Luckily for him Tonks had grown up with Muggles and was able to come up with a partially believable explanation. He scribbled his name right in the middle of the clipboard and handed it back.

"Thank you, _sir_. Here's your _package_," Tonks said ceremoniously, then took the clipboard and handed the small brown parcel to Harry.

As she left she gave him an enormous wink, and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from bursting with laughter.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one to see the wink.

"YOU!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. Tonks froze in the doorway. Uncle Vernon's eyes bulged and he pointed an accusatory finger at her. "YOU'RE ONE OF THEM!" In an instant he had thundered his way back to the door, seized the package from Harry, tossed it out the open doorway, and was barking in Tonks's face:

"Brooklands College, indeed! You listen here—this, this…_miscreant_ " he gestured at Harry, "isn't going anywhere until I see Dupeldoor! You tell him that for me!" he yelled, the plump face bright purple and an inch from Tonks's. "Now, GET OFF MY PROPERTY!" The door slammed so hard that a couple pictures (Dudley had been eating in both, Harry noted) fell off the wall and shattered.

Uncle Vernon then stepped towards him, a satisfied smile on his face. He spoke in a low growl, "Doesn't look like your little friends are as smart as they think they are, does it boy? Now sit down!"

Defeated, Harry did as he was told and took his previous seat on the brown and pink couch. Uncle Vernon also returned to his spot; a smug, self-satisfied look on his face as if he had just outsmarted the Prime Minister himself. Harry wasn't impressed: if it hadn't been for that ridiculous wink, he'd be up in his room opening the package right now.

Harry spent the next hour or so thinking about the package and what it may have held. It hadn't been very big; probably no larger than a shoe-box. Considering Tonks had delivered it personally, it most likely contained the means for leaving Privet Drive that Dumbledore had mentioned in his letter. Harry guessed it was a port-key of some sort.

Another couple of hours slowly drug by. Aunt Petunia had fallen asleep and was snoring slightly. Uncle Vernon had dispensed with the drill magazine and was now balancing his checkbook when another knock came at the door.

The noise woke Aunt Petunia with a loud snort. Before Harry could even stand (he was anxious for any excuse to get off the couch by now) Uncle Vernon had bolted out of his seat, shoved Harry back into his, and was on his way to the door.

"You stay there," he growled back at Harry. He had an angry, eager look on his face that reminded Harry of a tiger about to pounce on its prey. The door opened.

"Evn'n sir. We're from the 'Lectic Department do'n root'ine checks on yer block. D'you mind if we come in an' look at yer fuse box fer a secon'?" Harry heard the slow, gravely voice of a man say to Uncle Vernon. The man sounded a bit nervous and unsure.

Watching Uncle Vernon glower back at the man, he could understand why. Anyone would be nervous with Uncle Vernon looking at them like that, Harry thought as he craned his head to get a better look at the man. All he could see from his vantage point on the couch was the hovering end of a rusted gray toolbox. The voice definitely wasn't Tonks; perhaps it really was the Electric Department…

Uncle Vernon didn't reply at first, but continued to regard the speaker with a cold and suspicious air before finally speaking.

"The Electric Department, did you say? So that would make you…electricians, wouldn't it," Uncle Vernon reasoned quite admirably.

"Er…yessir," came the man's confused reply.

Uncle Vernon continued to look back at the man, his eyes squinted judiciously, as if he were buying a used car and was hoping to find a defect in it. Harry heard another voice, this one a woman's, pipe up:

"We've had some trouble with power surges and transformer malfunctions in your area, sir. It won't take but a few minutes. Or if you'd like us to come back some other time…?" she spoke, sounding much more confident than the man had.

"No, no, not at all. Come on in." Uncle Vernon removed his massive bulk from the doorway and gestured for the two to enter. "Right then! Go have a look."

Uncle Vernon sounded unusually polite, Harry noticed.

Harry watched the two electricians enter the house. The first was a husky, middle-aged woman with short, gray hair. She took no notice of Harry or Petunia sitting on the couch as she entered, her attention apparently focused on locating the fuse-box.

The second electrician was far more interesting. He was short and squat; a dumpy little figure crammed into a uniform that looked two sizes too tall and four sizes too thin. His light brown hair was slicked back with some horrible type of grease and he gazed continually around the house with an air of bewilderment and uneasiness. As he looked around the house his eyes fell on Harry and his eyes registered recognition. He stared at Harry for a few seconds, mouth slightly open, before looking hurriedly away and finding his partner.

Harry recognized the man almost immediately. He lowered his face and buried it in his hands so no one would see him quaking with laughter.

There were many wizards who could reasonably pass as a Muggle—Mundungus Fletcher was definitely not one of them.

Uncle Vernon glanced shrewdly at Harry, then closed the door and joined the two "electricians".

"Where could we find the fuse-box, sir?" asked the female, who Harry now realized was Tonks.

"Why, it's in that cabinet right there, the one under the stairs," Uncle Vernon replied, again just a little too politely.

The hefty, middle aged Tonks opened the cabinet door, (which had also served as the door to Harry's living quarters for many years) ducked underneath, and flipped open the fuse-box. Tonks, at least, was doing a decent job of acting like a Muggle, which was more than he could say for Mundungus, who followed Tonks's heels like a terrified puppy.

Harry had two contrary feelings as he watched the whole spectacle: he felt anxious for the two, as it seemed Uncle Vernon was on to them already; and hilarity at Mundungus's attempt at posing as an electrician. A plumber probably would have been a better choice...

As Tonks toyed around with the fuse box Uncle Vernon came up behind Mundungus (who was trying very hard not to look at anything but the floor), and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"I say, we've been having a little trouble with one of the outlets in the kitchen. Would you mind stepping in and having a look while we're waiting?"

Harry saw Tonks freeze. Mundungus slowly looked up at Uncle Vernon, hesitated, then replied tremulously, "Er…no prob'em, sir."

Uncle Vernon led him into the kitchen, where Harry could see him point out a socket against the wall next to the refrigerator.

"That outlet right there. It's been acting up lately, will you give it a look for me?" Uncle Vernon took a couple of steps back and gazed at Mundungus expectantly.

Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for Mundungus—he was clearly out of his element. In fact, Harry doubted Mundungus knew what an electrical outlet was anymore than Harry had known what Quidditch was before entering Hogwarts.

Holding the rusted gray toolbox Mundungus took a couple of slow steps towards the kitchen counter and set it down with a loud rattle. He peered warily at the outlet, doing his best to look and sound knowledgable, a task at which he failed spectacularly:

"Of course…out-lick be'n actin strange lately…see 't all the time, we do…rascally out-licks."

Harry saw Tonks's head dart out from under the cabinet door, watching Mundungus in shock. Harry realized the peril of the situation: it was only a matter of seconds before Mundungus made it obvious that he was no electrician, and then Uncle Vernon would undoubtedly throw them out of the house with a few choice words and Harry still wouldn't have the package. He could see her mind racing furiously, trying desperately to come up with a plan.

"Uh…Sir, I'm just going to check the outlets upstairs, if that's all right with you," she said quickly and made for the stairway. Harry saw the package peeking out from her toolbox.

"WAIT RIGHT THERE!" Uncle Vernon yelled from across the kitchen. "You may just as soon as we get this outlet fixed. Now after you sir," he said, gesturing at Mundungus to continue.

With a last terrified glance at Tonks, Mundungus slowly reached back into his tool-box, fished around for a bit, and pulled out a long flatheaded screwdriver and…a big rubber mallet. Harry winced. It wasn't that he had chosen the wrong tool so much as the fact that he was holding it by the wrong end.

Mundungus took a quick glance up to check Uncle Vernon's reaction. Uncle Vernon simply grinned and said nothing.

Heartened by Uncle Vernon's encouraging manner Mundungus turned towards the outlet—screwdriver in his right hand and the head of the rubber mallet in his left—and did the one thing that made sense to him to do: stuck the flat end of the screwdriver right into the electrical outlet.

"NO—!" "DUNG DON'T…!" Harry and Tonks yelled simultaneously.

A few things happened in the next fraction of a second. First, all the lights in the house went out. Second, a brilliant flash of light filled the room, accompanied by a sizzle and a horrific "GGGRRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHH!" followed by a loud THUMP in the dark kitchen.

"Dung! Are you all right!" Tonks and Harry ran into the kitchen where Mundungus lay twitching on the floor. "Let's get him up Harry." said Tonks, wrapping an arm underneath his shoulders. Harry grabbed the other arm, and with a little effort the two were able to get Mundungus to his feet.

"W..W…Whollop'n Wombats!" he wheezed "I don' like thet 'lectrickity Tonks, you ke'p it away! Ke'p it away Tonks…" he spoke, eyes as big as golf balls and looking like he had just been hit by a truck. Harry had never seen Mundungus look so sober.

"Serves you right, rogue!" bellowed Uncle Vernon. Harry had completely forgotten he had been standing right next to them. "Electric Department, HA! As if _your kind_ had the brains! Now GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Uncle Vernon grabbed the two by their collars and pushed them out of the kitchen; Mundungus still quivering and muttering "ke'p it away…away…no more 'lectickity" and Tonks doing all she could just to keep him from falling over while getting bulldozed by Uncle Vernon straight out of the house.

"YOU…COUCH…NOW!" he spat at Harry after locking the front door.

Another grueling hour passed. Harry was extremely worried by now—it was 4:30 and he only had a half hour before he was supposed to leave. Tonks was obviously doing all she could to get the package to him, but he couldn't see any way of getting it now—Uncle Vernon was in such a state that he would probably attack the next person to knock on the door.

Aunt Petunia had just gone to the kitchen to prepare dinner when it came:

"Knock…….Knock…….Knock……."

Uncle Vernon, who had just started to doze off himself, woke with a start. Harry looked up at the door hopefully, but knew it was no use trying to answer it; he'd have to watch from the couch again.

Uncle Vernon, however, didn't get up to answer the door. He glared at Harry, then turned his head and glared at the door, apparently thinking the person would go away if he stared nastily enough at the back of the door.

A minute passed. Uncle Vernon had just relaxed back into his seat when it came again:

"Knock…….Knock…….Knock……."

"Hummph!" Uncle Vernon grunted, then glared back at Harry, who could tell he was debating with himself about answering the door or not. Apparently he had decided not too, fo

Two minutes passed without a knock. Uncle Vernon had just sunk back into the couch, satisfied that the visitor had given up, when…

"KNOCK…KNOCK…KNOCK…"

"THAT'S IT!" he boomed, launching out of his seat and storming over to the door like an angry walrus. "I'm going to have your HEAD!" he growled at the locked door, fumbling with the dead bolt in his anger. It looked like he really was going to attack the person on the other side. Finally he threw it open:

"WHAT NOW…!" Uncle Vernon stopped mid-sentence—no one was there.

He stuck his head out the doorway and darted it left and right. Apparently no one was to be seen, for Uncle Vernon slammed the door, looking more irratated and angry than Harry had ever seen him. Aunt Petunia had come from the kitchen to see what the commotion was and, seeing the angry look on her husband's face, returned to her cooking without a word. Uncle Vernon had almost made it back to the couch when:

"KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!"

"AARGGH!" Uncle Vernon practically flew to the door this time. In a swift movement he had flung it open, only to find, yet again, an empty porch. He stormed outside onto the front walkway, out of sight to Harry. He was probably all the way to the street by now, Harry figured. He could picture Uncle Vernon huffing like a winded boar, scanning the neighborhood for any sign of the prankster.

It was then that Harry first heard it:

"Cccccrrreeeeaaakkkkk."

It sounded like the low squeaking sound of a loose floorboard being stepped on. He looked around for the source of the sound: Aunt Petunia was still in the kitchen, humming nervously to herself, and no one else was in the room…

Just then Uncle Vernon came back into the house, a crazy look in his eye, and, for some reason, clutching a heavy red brick. He left the door wide open, grasped one of the living room chairs and slammed it down several yards away from the open door, turning it to face outdoors. Apparently his plan was to wait until Tonks showed up and hurl the brick at her. The muscles on his forehead were twitching and he made strange grunting sounds to himself; the last time Harry had seen Uncle Vernon this crazy had been with the letters at the start of his first year.

Harry was just as bewildered. It seemed that Tonks had given up trying to get the package to Harry and had instead settled for playing tricks on Uncle Vernon. While it was fun to watch, Harry would really have preferred to leave Privet Drive…

"Cccccrrreeeeaaaakkkkk."

There was the noise again. Having lived under the stairs for the first 10 years of his life, Harry knew exactly what it sounded like when someone tried to sneak up and down them: Dudley had done it hundreds of times. Someone was creeping up the stairs, but how could they get in without Harry seeing them…

Then it all came together: the persistent knocking; no one at the door; creaking floorboards—of course! Tonks had knocked on the door until Uncle Vernon had ran outside, used the opportunity to sneak in, and was now creeping up the stairs to deliver the package to Harry's room. Brilliant! She had probably borrowed an invisibility cloak from Moody…

He took a quick glance at the clock: 4:53. He could give Tonks a minute or so, make some excuse to Uncle Vernon for going to his room, get the package and be out of Privet Drive!

"Ccccrrrrrreeeaaaakkkk" She had taken another step.

Harry watched in dismay as Uncle Vernon's mustache twitched and his head cocked to one side. Had he heard the noise? He didn't seem in any state of mind to perceive a small sound like the stairs creaking, but by this point Harry expected the worst.

"Ccccrrrrrreeeaaaakkkk."

There it was again. Uncle Vernon definitely heard it this time. He looked around wildly. Harry began to feel hot panic creep up his neck: so close! She was so close…

An idea suddenly sprang to his head. He had to say something, anything to cover the sound of the floor creaking:

"Er…Uncle Vernon, I don't think Dumbledore will be coming today, and seeing as I'm not going anywhere, I think I should get started on my daily chores so…"

"QUIET BOY!" Uncle Vernon snapped, listening intently for another sound.

Harry felt his insides clench. It was up to Tonks now; all he could do was hope she got up the rest of the stairs quietly. Unfortunately, Tonks had never been known for her stealth…

As if a result of that very thought, Harry then heard a short "ccreeeaak", a muffled grunt, then a sudden, startled, "DAMN!", followed by the unmistakable sound of a body rolling down the stairs:

"Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom…CRASH!"

Harry looked up to see the half-visible upper torso of Tonks lying at the foot of the stairs, a small brown package resting on the floor nearby.

She opened her eyes to find an enraged Uncle Vernon gasping in disbelief at her. Somehow Tonks managed a weak laugh.

"Uhhh…Hello there Mr. Dursley…"

Uncle Vernon was positively furious. He was now standing, glowering at the visible portion of Tonks with his face turning rapidly purple, like a volcano about to explode. With an angry bellow he charged at Tonks, brick in hand.

"AAAAAARRRRRRGGHHHHHH!"

Harry could see annoyance on Tonks's face just before it disappeared under the cloak—along with the package.

The brick went smashing into the ground just where Tonks had been seconds before. Uncle Vernon continued to bellow like an angry bull.

"EEERRRGGHH! Get out here! PETUNIA! BURGLAR! CALL THE POLICE"

Harry could hear Tonks swishing around the living room, although he couldn't see her.

"Dursley you git! You stupid GIT!" Harry heard Tonks say, sounding every bit as fed up as his uncle's.

Uncle Vernon swung around to face the voice.

Harry heard a soft mutter from over to his right, followed by a few soft pops: "I didn't want to do this, but…" Apparently Tonks was now in the middle of the living room, just feet from Harry.

She threw off the invisibility cloak. Harry gasped.

He was looking straight into the face of another Uncle Vernon.

"You couldn't just let Harry go, could you!" the second Uncle Vernon yelled at the first, who had fallen to the ground in astonishment. "No, you've got to do it the hard way don't you, you great sweaty Muggle…"

Just then Aunt Petunia walked into the living room, and, seeing one husband on the floor and another husband in the living room staring angrily at her, fainted.

"PETUNIA!" the real Uncle Vernon hopped up and ran to his wife. "It's me! Vernon!"

Seizing her opportunity, Tonks spun towards Harry.

"Harry, we only have a couple of minutes! Take the package and go upstairs! Don't worry about your things, we'll get them later. GO!" she said brusquely. It felt odd to have his uncle speak to him in a woman's voice.

Uncle Vernon had by this time risen to his feet and stood looking at his double with a mix of terror and anger. Petunia had regained consciousness and glanced at the two in amazement, not quite sure if she was dreaming.

With a glance at his aunt and uncle, Harry grabbed the package and made for the stairs.

"IMPOSTER!" he heard the real Uncle Vernon shout, pointing at Tonks.

"NO! YOU'RE THE IMPOSTER!" the other Vernon shouted back.

The last glance Harry had before sprinting up the stairs was of the fake Uncle Vernon dancing spasmodically around with bright pink hair while his aunt and real uncle watched on in astonishment. Whatever she was doing, Tonks seemed to be enjoying herself.

Harry flew into his room and ripped open the package, finding a stuffed toy lion. Careful not to touch it, Harry grabbed his wand from out of the open trunk and looked around for anything else he might need. Finding nothing, he placed his hand on the stuffed lion and felt the sharp tug just under his navel as the room around him disappeared in swirl of color.

The rushing sensation stopped in an instant, and Harry suddenly found himself on the ground in a small clearing of trees. A gentle breeze caressed his face. Before he could even look around at his new surroundings, Harry heard a calm, serene voice speak:

"Hello Harry. Welcome to Godric's Hollow."


	7. Godric's Hollow

Chapter 7

Godric's Hollow

Harry turned over onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows, head still swimming from the journey by port-key. Godric's Hollow? The name sounded remotely familiar, but Harry couldn't place where he had heard it before. He looked around for the owner of the voice but could only see the outlines of tall, blurry trees. One of the trees in particular looked especially tall, and Harry could swear it was walking straight towards him….

"Greetings, Harry! Let me give you a hand. I see you haven't quite gotten used to travel by port-key yet."

Dumbledore.

Harry took the hand and pulled himself up. His head was spinning so fast he was afraid he would either fall over again or retch all over the headmaster.

Seeing this, Dumbledore took him by the back of his arm. "Come, let's have a sit until you are recovered. I discovered a lovely tree stump for sitting right over here," he said, guiding Harry to large, smooth tree stump.

"Thank you, professor," Harry said as he sat, Dumbledore resting next to him.

After a brief rest Harry felt the dizziness subside, and for the first time was able to study the surroundings. They were in a small clearing in the middle of what looked like an immense forest. The trees were tall, thick and full of lush green leaves. Sitting next to him, almost blending in with the trees on account of the deep, emerald green robes he was wearing, sat Dumbledore, who was gazing at him with interest.

Behind the long, crooked nose and half-moon glasses peeked out wise, ancient eyes that regarded Harry with a look of interest and compassion. There seemed to be new lines of concern and worry etched into his old, wizened face; and Harry couldn't help but notice that he looked more tired than usual. Despite the weariness, however, a strange, youthful energy radiated from him, definitely out of place in a wizard his age.

"I'm glad you could make it Harry. I see that Tonks was successful in delivering your package—I must confess I had my doubts about her idea at first, but apparently she makes a better Royal Mail carrier than I had supposed," Dumbledore remarked cheerfully.

Harry briefly considered telling the headmaster the whole grizzly story, including Mundungus Fletcher getting electrocuted and Tonks turning into a pink-haired Uncle Vernon, but decided it was best not to get into just then.

"Er…yeah," he replied simply.

"It is good to see you. Now tell me, how has your summer been?" the headmaster asked, giving the look that made Harry think he could see through him.

As he thought about how to best answer the question his mind was filled with memories from the summer holidays: lying in bed, sulking and miserable; a large owl smashing through the kitchen window; Uncle Vernon's purple face after reading his letter; practicing magic with a small wooden stick, and (Harry thought with an inward smile), Malfoy lying on the street, bloody and moaning.

Thinking it was probably better that the headmaster didn't know that last one, Harry calmly cleared the image from his mind.

"Er...it's been fine, sir."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.

"Well…ok, it's been horrible. The Dursley's were actually pretty ok to me though, it was more just trying to deal with…with…what happened," Harry stammered out awkwardly. The thing that happened, he knew (and was sure Dumbledore did as well), was Sirius's death.

Dumbledore placed a warm hand on Harry's shoulder and turned to face him, giving him a searching look.

"And how are you, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath.

"Well, I'm good sir….I really am," Harry replied earnestly, finding it easier to talk about Sirius's death than he had thought it would be. "I mean, it's still hard, but I guess I just realized that the last thing Sirius would want me to do is mope around and feel sorry. He'd want me to fight…"

Dumbledore's raised his bushy white eyebrows in an expression of impressed surprise. He regarded Harry for a moment, then spoke, "You are very right when you say that, Harry. I doubt very much that Sirius would want for any of us to wallow around in misery on his behalf. In fact," the headmaster added, his eyes twinkling, "Sirius would probably prefer to have some grand, final prank played in his honor, although I am by no means making a suggestion Harry."

Harry laughed and Dumbledore smiled back at him. "It will take some time for the pain to go away, Harry, but there are people in your life who will help you through it. My advice to you is to let them," he added, and slowly rose to his feet. Harry tried to think of who he was referring to, but was interrupted as the headmaster continued.

"Well Harry, I see that you are dealing quite admirably with Sirius's passing, and will pester you no more concerning it," the ancient headmaster said, walking into the middle of the clearing and looking off into the forest. "Now, you are most likely wondering why I have brought you here."

Harry nodded. He had expected Grimmuald Place or perhaps even the Burrow—definitely not a forest in the middle of nowhere.

Dumbledore continued. "As I mentioned during our discussion in my office before the holidays (Harry cringed as he remembered the said discussion, which had resulted in him demolishing the headmaster's office), I realize that it has been a mistake to have withheld so much of your past from you. Your parents, the prophecy, your family's history; I told you very little. I intend to make up for telling you so little, Harry" here he turned around and looked straight into his eyes, "by telling you a great deal. Now, if you are sufficiently recovered, let us begin."

With that, Dumbledore gave Harry his hand, pulled him to his feet, and headed into the forest.

Harry gazed after him, shocked. 'Telling him a great deal'? His heart began to race. The last time Dumbledore had shared a secret with Harry, he had found out that he was destined either to murder someone or to be murdered. Needless to say, Harry wasn't quite sure he wanted to know anything more. Regardless, he found himself jogging into the forest to catch up with Dumbledore.

They walked in silence for about 15 minutes. Dumbledore was surprisingly agile, considering he was tall enough to get caught in the lower branches and had to drag his emerald green robes behind him. He moved through the forest like a tall, silver fox, and Harry was pressed just to keep up with him.

The forest itself looked like it had been there for ages; the trees were tall and thick, and their leaves filled the sky like some giant green canopy. The sun blinked merrily through the branches, illuminating the scene with a warm, pleasant green light. Birds sang happily in the upper reaches of the trees as their perches swayed gently in the breeze. The pleasant scent of vegetation and moist earth wafted around Harry, and there was a pervading feeling of peace and safety.

Harry soon found himself entirely relaxed and at ease. It seemed odd to him that he had spent most of the day sitting on the Dursley's horrid brown and pink couch, waiting for Tonks to deliver a package.

They walked a few more minutes until the sight of small, thatched houses in the distance snapped Harry out of his reverie. Directly in front of him appeared to be a village, which, if they continued in their present course, they would arrive in just a few minutes later. The houses looked small, quaint and homely. A large concentration of them lay straight ahead and slightly to Harry's right. There were others scattered throughout the trees, their pointed roofs popping out of the tree tops like little moles.

Just as he thought they were making their way towards the village, Dumbledore turned a sharp left. They began following a faint trail that Harry could barely make out through the undergrowth. It seemed to be climbing steadily upwards.

"Professor, where did you say we were again?" Harry asked suddenly, his voice sounding out of place in the calm silence.

"Godric's Hollow, Harry."

Again, Harry thought the name sounded familiar, though he couldn't remember where he had heard it before.

"Godric's Hollow was founded by Godric Gryffindor himself. It is a small, ancient village whose existence and location are known by only a few. It is conveniently hidden in a valley formed by two mountains, one of which you can see through the branches over there."

Harry craned his neck, trying to see through the jumble of branches where the headmaster was pointing. Sure enough, there was the tree-covered slope of a smooth mountain, although it looked more like a large hill than an actual mountain.

"In addition to its splendid location," Dumbledore continued, "many of the ancient wards and spells of protection cast on the village still remain, despite the fact that they were cast 1,000 years ago."

Ancient wards? Spells of protection? Harry tried to imagine why a remote village would need such things. Seeing his furrowed brow the headmaster added, "You see, Harry, Godric Gryffindor meant for this village to be a sanctuary. Although," here the headmaster's voice became sober, causing Harry to glance concernedly at him, "past events have shown that it is by no means impregnable." Harry noticed a sad, almost resentful tone to the old wizard's voice, and briefly wondered what he was talking about.

Harry mused on the information a bit. It was all very interesting, but still didn't explain why Dumbledore would bring him there.

"But, err… professor," he asked hesitatingly "what does Godric's Hollow have to do with me?"

Dumbledore stopped. He looked back at Harry, an amused expression on his face. "This is where you were born, Harry," he said with a smile. After a brief pause, he turned around and resumed walking.

Harry gaped at his headmaster's back. The Dursley's had always done all they could to keep him in the dark, and had certainly told him nothing about where he was born. Truthfully, he had never really thought of asking.

"Actually, your family has a long history in Godric's Hollow," Dumbledore continued, "James, your father, was born here, as was his father, and his father, and so on for many generations, with the exception of your great-great grandfather, Robert Potter, who I hear broke the tradition and was born instead in a mountain troll's cave. Sounds like quite an interesting story, perhaps you could research it some time and tell me about it."

Harry walked on in shock. His birthplace? Great-great grandfathers? It had been as much as he could manage trying to imagine his own parents, let alone great-great grandfathers.

Still amazed with the new information, Harry somehow noticed a subtle change in the landscape. The trail continued to steadily climb and the terrain gradually became slightly rockier. Soon one of the mountains loomed overhead, and Harry could see that they were approaching its base. Most curiously, however, there were now large, chiseled stones sunken into the ground around him. They were definitely man-made, and looked to be all that remained of several large, granite buildings.

"Almost there, Harry. Actually, your genealogy is the subject of our first stop."

Looking up, Harry saw the crumpled ruins of what must have once been a magnificent castle. There were more stones littering the ground, many of which had been completely buried under vegetation. Stone pillars sprung out of the ground like ancient trees; once tall and mighty, but now crumbling with age. The castle was now a mere skeleton of what it had once been, but Harry could see that it had once been a magnificent structure.

"Splendid, isn't it Harry? This is what I imagine Hogwarts must look like to Muggles who accidentally come across it," Dumbledore mentioned casually as they stepped their way through the stones. Harry thought it would have been fun to explore, but the headmaster seemed to be taking him to a specific place.

They made their way towards the back of the ruins, which, Harry noticed, had been built into a large indentation in the mountain behind it. The mountain cliffs loomed on all sides and Harry could see boulders of various sizes sunken deeply into the ground. Harry could picture them thundering down from the cliffs over centuries.

At last they came to a crumbling, broken, half-wall. It was surprisingly intact compared to the rest of the castle, and had an open archway in the middle of it. It looked as if there had once been a door in the arch, but had long since been empty.

Harry probably wouldn't have given the archway a second thought, except that he noticed

Dumbledore standing in front of it. He seemed to be studying it intensely, and had taken his wand out. Harry stepped beside him and studied the archway more closely.

A stone carving of a lion sprawled over the top of the arch, its powerful legs stretched as if walking and the noble head regarding Harry with a look of majesty. Two lion faces were embossed on either sides of the arch, each with a calm, serene expression on their faces.

Dumbledore took his wand, and, tapping first the lion face on the left, muttered, "Templum," then tapping the lion on the right, "Fortus," and with a final tap on the top lion, "Gryffindor".

Harry watched in amazement as each of the lions' heads slowly turned towards the opening of the archway. Their eyes began to glow a vibrant red, and the once calm faces erupted in an earsplitting roar that almost knocked Harry over. There was now a solid brass door in the archway, where only a second before it had opened up into nothing.

He stared in astonishment at Dumbledore, who smiled back at him from behind the long, crooked nose.

Dumbledore tapped the door with his wand and it swung open, revealing a pitch-black opening.

"Well, after you Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile.

"But…professor…what's in there?" Harry stammered out, still a little shaken from the lions' roar.

Dumbledore didn't reply at first, but looked at Harry thoughtfully. "Sometimes in life, Harry, you have to take a few steps in the dark before things are made clear to you. It appears that now is one of those times."

Harry looked from the calm face of his headmaster to the black entryway in front of him, and with a deep breath stepped through the doorway into the unknown.


	8. Bloodlines and Ancestors

Chapter 8

Bloodlines and Ancestors

The world around Harry immediately turned dark, damp, and cold. The air smelled ancient and musky—almost like old parchment. Despite having only taken a few steps through the doorway, it was considerably colder. Thinking he may have been transported somewhere far away, Harry looked back through the archway and, sure enough, there were the ruins, forest, and Dumbledore on the other side. Harry moved to give the headmaster room to enter.

Although it was too dark to see anything, Harry got the distinct feeling of being in an enormous cave. Towards the far end of the cave there was a faint, shimmering light, though Harry wasn't sure if it was real or from the glare of the sun on his eyes.

"Walk towards the light, Harry," Dumbledore said from somewhere in front of him, his voice sounding eerily like a disembodied spirit. A rustle of robes and the faint clatter of footsteps told Harry that the headmaster had begun walking himself.

Harry followed, wary of running into any unseen objects. Noticing that the sound of Dumbledore's footsteps were quickly fading, Harry decided it was better to risk hitting his shins than be left in the dark and quickened his pace.

His eyes now accustomed to the darkness, Harry saw that there was definitely a light at the far end of the cave. It was a strange, shimmering, golden light—about the size of a knut and getting steadily larger. He continued walking, gaining confidence with each step.

The light had now grown into a large, shimmering pool about the size of a quaffle. Harry could see the silhouette of Dumbledore's pointed hat bobbing up and down through it. Despite being closer, Harry had absolutely no idea what the light could be, although he was briefly reminded of a penseive.

Harry couldn't say how long it took to reach the light—it had a mesmerizing effect that quite made him forget about time—but soon the area around him became illuminated by the strange, dancing light. He saw that he wasn't in a cave at all. He was standing at the end of a long, high corridor that opened up into a spacious chamber. The floor was made from smooth, cut stone. Across the chamber on the opposite wall, perhaps 50 feet away, was the sparkling, golden light. It was formed in a giant arc, several yeards above the ground.

Moving closer to get a better look, Harry's jaw dropped in astonishment as the light took a recognizable shape. It was—there was no other way to describe it—a giant, golden tree. The top part of the tree arched across the circular wall in a giant rainbow shape, tiny bars of light dancing and shimmering like a million twinkling stars. It reminded Harry of the moon reflected in Hogwarts Lake, only, instead of a pale, ghostly white, this light was a rich, magnificent gold.

Coming to the wall next to Dumbledore, Harry was surprised to see that it was covered with words. Small, black writing had been expertly chiseled into the wall. On further inspection Harry realized that they were actually names.

"Professor, what…what is this?" he asked, awestruck and confused.

"This is the bloodline of Godric Gryffindor, Harry. This chamber was constructed shortly after his death almost 1,000 years ago. It was constructed as a tribute to his courage and compassion, and it lists every person who has decended from Godric Gryffindor," Dumbledore explained, a tone of reverence in his voice. "It is, quite literally, the Gryffindor family tree.

"Look here at the base," Dumbledore said pointing towards the floor. A large, elaborate crest bearing a lion had been carved into the wall, and two names were written, slightly larger than the rest: 'Godric Gryffindor' and "Daphne Grayestone'. A vertical line rose from the crest and branched off into 3 more names, 'Godfried Gryffindor', 'Wulfric Gryffindor', and 'Arlen Gryffindor'. The names were written in a flowery, ancient style, and it was a struggle to make them out at first, but Harry soon saw that each of these names branched out into more names, and those into more, and so on until the entire circular wall was filled with hundreds of thousands of them. The names at the top disappeared into the golden light above him.

"Each line represents a generation Harry. As you can see the family married with other families over the centuries—some wizard and some Muggle—and is now quite extensive."

Harry continued to study the wall, fascinated by how many names were on it. It was amazing to think that each name had been a real person, someone who had lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago. As he studied, however, something caught his attention.

Godric Gryffindor's name was written slightly larger than the rest, as was Godfreid Gryffindor, who Harry assumed to be his son. Godfreid's name was also placed slightly higher than his brothers, Wulfric and Arlen, and right in the middle of what would be the trunk of the tree. Another name was written above that one, 'Amadeus Gryffindor', also slightly larger than the rest. This pattern continued for 3 or 4 more generations, until stopping abruptly with the dimly lit name: "Felix Gryffindor". While the rest of the tree soared upwards, this particular line seemed to have stopped completely. Confused, Harry turned to Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore, what happened here?" he said, pointing to the name. "Why does this one stop?" Harry inquired.

Harry thought he saw the headmaster's eyes droop slightly; his face turning oddly serious. "If I knew the answer to that, Harry, this war would be a whole lot easier."

Confused, Harry waited for further explanation.

"But that is neither here nor there," Dumbledore said, regaining his composure in an instant. "Keep looking though, Harry. You may see a name or two you might recognize," he continued, his voice regaining its cheerfullness.

As he turned his attention back to the wall, Harry soon forgot all about his question. The names seemed to rush out at him, each with its own personality and story to tell.

'Dalthrop Angnor', 'Puddle Abernathy', 'Langroy Ellrop', 'Roderick Kettleburn'—again Harry was astonished with how many there were. 'Malric Tiddleburt', 'Montgomery Crouch'.

"Montgomery Crouch," Harry spoke out loud, "Professor, is this man related to…"

"Yes Harry, that would be the late Mr. Crouch's ancestor. Keep looking, I believe you will find more interesting names than that," answered Dumbledore, a warm smile on his face.

'Dangor Eddelbeer', 'Thane Melrod', 'Edwin Fallbrook'—And then he saw it.

'Angdrius Potter'.

Harry gasped. Angdrius Potter?

A surge of excitement shot through him. There were bound to be other Potters in the wizard world, but what if…Harry anxiously traced the line with his finger.

'Uriah Potter', Daniel Potter', 'Andrew Potter,' the list continued to grow. Soon Harry was standing on his toes, stretching to read each additional name. He wasn't tall enough—he needed to get higher.

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore strode forward and tapped the floor next to Harry's foot with his wand. The stone tile he had been standing on began to rise, allowing him to reach the higher names. At any other time he would have been impressed, but the excitement of the moment drove the makeshift elevatior from his mind. The tile soon stopped, bringing his head just a couple feet below the light.

Harry quickly resumed where he had left off: 'Theodore Potter', 'Grant Potter'—he was almost into the light now—'Michael Potter…' 'Daniel Potter II…' 'James Potter…'

The breath caught in Harry's throat. 'James Potter?' That had to be…

Following the thin line upwards with his finger, Harry was startled to see the next name, shimmering back at him in a brilliant, golden light…

'Harry Potter'.

Harry stared at his name in the wall, completely astonished. He felt his legs wobble and quickly caught himself just before he fell to the floor.

"Find something interesting, Harry?" Dumbledore asked causally.

"Professor…my name…my dad…we're…that means…" he stammered in disbelief.

"That means that you are a literal descendant of Godric Gryffindor, Harry."

Harry looked at him in amazement. The old professor looked back up at him, a smile on his face.

"You'll find many of your schoolmates are up there as well. I believe the Weasleys can be located several yards to your right, as can Mr. Longbottom."

As he walked to the edge of the tile, the one adjacent to it slowly began to rise from the floor, as did the next two. After an intense search he found them: 'Ginerva Weasley' (he had never known Ginny's full name was "Ginerva"), 'Ronald Weasley'—they were all there. In fact, an entire foot of wall space appeared to be dedicated soley to the Weasley family. This brought an odd realization to Harry.

"So, does this mean that I'm related to the Weasley's?"

"In a way, yes, though you are so far removed it would hardly be considered related," Dumbledore mused. "You'll find everyone is related if you go back far enough, and not just in the wizard world."

Harry studied the wall a bit longer, amazed at some of the other names he found: 'Susan Bones', 'Oliver Wood', 'Anthony Goldstein', 'Amos Diggory'. He was especially shocked to see 'Theodore Nott', the lanky Slytherin whose father was a death eater.

"But sir, Theodore Nott is on here. Isn't he a Slytherin?"

"Ah, Mr. Nott. Yes, Harry, his family is also descended from Gryffindor…Does that surprise you?" he added, seeing the confusion on Harry's face.

"Well, yeah. I guess I thought to be in Slytherin you kind of had to be related to him."

"Not at all. A person's heritage by no means determines their character, Harry. Far from it. You'll find that many of Gryffindor's descendants are cowards, while some of Slytherin's descendants are actually delightful people."

Harry thought briefly back to his second year when he had been terrified that he was the heir of Slytherin. The headmaster had told him then pretty much the same thing.

Looking back at the golden names on the wall, a new question popped into his mind.

"Professor, how come the names at the top are golden while the rest are black?"

"A good question. This wall was built as a tribute to Godric Gryffindor after his death. It has been enchanted to record the name of every child born into the Gryffindor bloodline. While that person is alive, their name shines with the golden light you see. When that person dies, the light is extinguished."

Harry looked at his own name twinkling back at him, then beneath it at his father's name. The letters were dead and black. For the first time he saw the name connected with it: 'Lily Evans'.

Harry studied the wall for a few more minutes, looking over and over his family line until turning back to Dumbledore.

"Wow, professor. I never knew this about my family," Harry said, still awestruck.

"Of course you didn't Harry. No one has ever told you. I thought you might like to see where you came from."

"I did…do. Thank you. Er…how do I get down?" Harry asked, looking over the edge of the tile to the floor below.

Dumbledore smiled and with a quick flick of his wand, Harry found himself returning to ground level.

"Well then, if you are tired of looking at strange old names, I have something else I would like to show you Harry. Something that will make all this a little more…real," said Dumbledore, nodding at the tree.

Not sure what to expect next, Harry followed the headmaster back through the dark corridor.

They slowly made their way down the corridor and out the brass door. It was now dusk, the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, setting the few remaining clouds on fire. The remainder of the sky had durned a deep purple and the evening star shone brightly on Harry as he made his way back through the ruins.

A happiness and contentment he had never known swelled in Harry as he walked. Learning more about his parents had always excited him, but his grand-parents, great-grand-parents? It was almost too much to take in. Somehow, after leaving the Gryffindor chamber he felt an inexplicable bond to his ancestors, like he really did belong somewhere.

The air smelled sweet and fresh as they returned to the forest. Harry had a spring in his step—earlier today he had been stuck with the Dursley's in Privet Drive, but now he was in Godric's Hollow, the place his family had lived in for generations, the place he had been born in, the place his parents had lived before…

The realization hit Harry like a bludger to the head. He whirled around to face Dumbledore.

"Professor, I was born here, right?" he demanded.

"That's right Harry." Dumbledore responded.

"And my family has lived here for generations?"

"Yes Harry," he nodded sadly, as if he knew where the questions were leading.

"Then, isn't this where my parents lived when," Harry's voice cracked, "when Voldemort…attacked them?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely and said nothing.

A cold wave swept over Harry. His throat constricted and he felt himself gasp for air as if he were drowning. There was a deafening silence. Then he spoke in a loud, hollow voice he hardly recognized as his own.

"I want to see it."

Dumbledore shook his head gravely. "Harry, I do not think it would be best to…"

"PROFESSOR…" Harry spoke, a little more demanding than he had meant to. "I want to see it."

Dumbledore looked back at Harry, sorrow etched in his face. He seemed to be weighing the matter in his head. With a heavy sigh he acquiesced.

"Very well, Harry,"

Harry watched as the tall, slender form of his headmaster turned disappeared into the dark wood. Heart throbbing and palms sweaty, Harry followed the shadowy figure towards the place where his parents had been murdered.


	9. Ruins of the Past

Chapter 9

Ruins of the Past

Night had set in by the time they emerged from the forest onto a small dirt road. A full moon shone down on the forest around them, illuminating everything around them with a pale, opalescent light. In other circumstances it may have been beautiful, instead Harry found it glum and eerie.

Dumbledore walked a few steps ahead of him, his head slightly bowed and arms folded in the sleeves of his robes. They had walked in silence the entire time, Dumbledore's swishing robes and the pounding of Harry's heart the only noises in the cool, summer's night.

Harry looked around in a daze. It all seemed so unreal: the road, the trees, the ghostly white light—it was like walking in a dream. He was vaguely aware of passing two or three houses, though his mind was too numb to pay any attention.

Suddenly Dumbledore broke the silence.

"We will be there shortly Harry. Our destination is just around this bend…" he said in a soft voice.

Harry's heart was now positively thumping against his chest like a caged animal fighting to escape. His hands were sweaty and he had to fight for breath. After rounding the bend they walked 20 or more paces until Dumbledore stopped suddenly and turned to his left. An empty plot of land stood before them.

Confused, Harry surveyed the area. It was a small and open plot of land, overgrown with grass, wildflowers, and a few scattered trees. He was about to ask the headmaster why he had brought him to an empty spot of land when a strange black shape a few yards in front of him caught his eye.

It was a rough, cylindrical shape, about 4 feet tall with a flat, slanted top. Walking up to it Harry realized that words and a picture had been carved into the flat top, although there wasn't quite enough light to make them out. It was made of stone, and looked like it had been purposely placed there, like a memorial of some sort.

There were other dark shapes just now becoming visible in the pale moon light. Just a couple feet to his right rested a long wooden beam, the type that could be used to support a roof. To his left, rising about 2 feet from the ground, was a small area of bricks stacked on top of each other, almost as if it had once been part of a wall…

Harry turned back to look at Dumbledore, who, as if he could sense his confusion, answered the unasked question.

"As you are well aware, Harry, the curse Voldemort used on you backfired. In addition to stripping him of his powers, it almost completely destroyed the house. As the years went by, it fell deeper and deeper into ruin. That which you see here is all that is left of it."

Startled, Harry took a couple of steps back. He could now see other hints that a house had once stood here: more crumbling sections of wall, pieces of flooring, scattered brick. All of it had crumbled and lay strewn about the ground, overgrown with grass and buried by time.

Harry stared at the spot of land for quite some time. The trees, the moon, even Dumbledore standing next to him—it all seemed to disappear as he looked at the ruins of what had once been his parents house.

Oddly enough, the scene didn't invoke any anger inside of Harry. He had expected to feel a surge of hatred for Voldemort, a desire for vengeance on the man who had brought so much misery to his life. Instead, there was a profound sorrow —sorrow for the parents he never knew, sorrow for his childhood, sorrow for the life he might have had.

"Why did they have to die?"

Dumbledore looked at him, sorrow etched into every line of his ancient face. He was silent for some time before speaking.

"I have no answers for you, Harry."

'Nobody has any answers,' he thought bitterly. Still he was unable to conjure any feelings of anger towards Voldemort, although he was desperately trying. Anger was easy, anger he knew how to deal with—what he couldn't deal with was this intense loneliness, this gnawing hunger for family he had always lived with but was now magnified a hundred times over, leaving an emptiness in his heart that matched the empty plot of land in front of him.

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Voldemort was out there, right now. Because of him other people would suffer, other people would have to go through what he had, feel what he was feeling right now. Where would it stop? How many people would have to be killed before Voldemort was pleased, before somebody stopped him? But nobody could stop him. Nobody except…

Except him.

For the first time since he had heard the prophecy, Harry felt all fear and doubt leave him, replaced with cold, solid determination. He had to stop Voldemort. Not for revenge, not out of hate and anger—but because no one else should have to go through what he had. He knew what he had to do.

"This can't happen."

His voice was clear and strong and it rang through the night, surprising even Harry.

Dumbledore looked at him questioningly.

"I can't let this happen to anyone else," Harry said.

Slowly Dumbledore walked towards him, a sad smile on his face, and put a long arm around his quaking shoulders. Gently, almost fatherly, the old headmaster led Harry back into the forest and away from the shattered ruins of his past.

The remainder of the night passed in a haze. Harry was vaguely aware of stumbling through the forest, Dumbledore occasionally offering a word of comfort. He was vaguely aware of passing a small thatched house that had a light on and a grizzled old witch running out to meet them. He was vaguely aware of the sound of rushing water as they walked along a winding trail and of entering a large, dark house. He was vaguely aware of being led to a bedroom and of Dumbledore saying, "Rest Harry. You are safe here," and barely realized he had somehow gotten into a soft bed, until sweet sleep set in and he become aware of nothing at all.

Harry awoke the next morning in a room entirely bathed in light. It poured through the windows in a flood, embracing him with warmth. At first he thought he must be at Hogwarts, until a quick look at the room informed him he definitely wasn't.

It was large and open; at least twice the size of his room in Privet Drive. The floor was made from a dark, lumpy wood that looked slightly polished. The walls were a combination of stone and wooden beams and gave the room an earthy feel. Against the wall to his right was a bookcase, filled with old books, and next to it a comfortable looking wooden chair. The chair faced one of the many windows in the room, giving whoever sat in it a wonderful view of the lush forest outside.

Curious, Harry slipped out of bed. He had slept wonderfully, though seeing how far the sun had traveled in the sky told him he had been asleep for quite some time. The wooden floor felt cool and smooth against his bare feet as he walked around the room, curious as to where he was. The windows looked out into thick forest, through which parts of the large granite mountain were visible. Apparently he was still in Godric's Hollow, although he had no idea whose house he was in.

Putting on his shoes (apparently he had been too tired to change clothes in the night), Harry walked to the bedroom door and cautiously opened it. He thought he heard the faint sound of a bell ringing in the distance as Harry peeped his head around the corner.

"Er…Hello?" he called softly.

No answer.

Exiting the bedroom, he found himself in a long hallway. To his right was a wooden staircase which led downstairs. Apparently he was on the second floor of the house. To his left the hallway stretched on for a ways, the solid wall on one side becoming a wooden railing. The railing was about 15 feet long, then became a wall again. Rooms branched off from both sides of the hallway, although most of the large, oak doors were closed.

Thinking he was more likely to disturb someone down the hallway, Harry decided to take the staircase down to the first floor. The stairs creaked as he made his way down, noticing a long, thin tapestry with a representation of a dragon hung in the stairwell. It looked very old and faded and the dragon didn't move, as though it was too worn out.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Harry found himself in another hallway, this one slightly shorter than the one upstairs. He walked very slowly, not quite sure he should be walking about the house without knowing whom it belonged to. What looked like a pantry opened up to his left. Slightly beyond it was another room, its door wide open.

Looking into the open doorway, Harry was surprised to see another small bedroom with a large bookcase and plenty of windows. Different than the first bedroom, however, this room was filled with globes, star charts, and maps of unrecognizable places. Not seeing anyone inside, Harry entered the room intending to get a closer look at a small globe of the earth that appeared to have clouds moving about its surface.

Just as he was about to touch the globe with the swirling clouds, a loud voice spoke, nearly causing him to jump out of his shoes.

"Oi! You, boy! What're you doing prowling around my house?"

Scared and embarrassed, Harry twirled around expecting to face the irate owner of the house. Instead there was an old, tattered portrait of a dark haired man with bushy eyebrows and an angry look on his face.

"I'm sorry…I just…Dumbledore brought me…" Harry began to stammer at the man, unnerved at having been caught snooping around the house. Even more surprising than the man yelling at him was the look that now came across his broad face.

"Merlin's beard…James? Can it be? James! You're back! But how…" the portrait exclaimed, all the while grinning at Harry yet staring at him as if he were a ghost.

"Er…My name isn't James, it's Harry," he said. The man in the portrait stared at him in disbelief.

"James was my father."

This time it was the portrait's turn to look shocked. For a few seconds he was speechless, then broke out into a broad grin. "Why of course! James's son! I knew you had to be a Potter—not many families with that horrendous black hair out there, is there! How do you do, my lad, how do you do!"

The man suddenly looked extremely pleased to see Harry. Harry couldn't help but notice he had black hair as well.

"Are you a…a Potter too?" Harry asked tentatively.

"Course I'm a Potter!" the man burst, looking affronted. "This is Potter's Cove, isn't it? Not going to have a picture of the bloomin Darnabys here, are you now lad? HA!" The man looked at him intently, a gleam in his eye.

"I suppose not," Harry answered.

Just then another voice came from the doorway, scaring him almost as much as the first had.

"Ah, I see you've met Angus, Harry. Excellent."

"Ahoy there, Dumbledore!" the man on the portrait called out. "You hear that? The lad says he's James's son! I believe it too, he's got that strong Potter chin!"

Harry had never heard of thought of his chin as 'strong', but it was good to hear all the same.

"Yes Angus, this is Harry. Harry, meet Angus, your great uncle."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Great uncle?

"Harry will be living here until class resumes at Hogwarts."

"Splendid!" boomed the portrait, "I've been going mad in this house all by myself, not a soul to talk to! Had to make friends with the chair and Neptune over there," he nodded at a small statue on the table, "good blokes, not much for conversation though, Ha Ha!" The man in the portrait, Angus, had a short, booming laugh that shook the entire room.

"I'll be living _here, _professor?" Harry asked, slightly confused. He had hoped to stay with the Weasley's, though he had resigned himself to the fact that he would most likely be taken to Grimmuald Place. Needless to say, a large, mysterious house in a tiny village he had barely even heard of was the last place he expected to spend the summer.

"Yes. The Burrow is no longer safe, and, as I thought you'd prefer not to return to the Black house so soon, Potter's Cove seemed like the natural choice."

"Potter's Cove?"

"Yes, Potter's Cove. You may recall me saying earlier that your family has had a long history in Godric's Hollow. For much of that history they have lived here. Potter's Cove," Dumbledore motioned at the house around them, "belonged to your grandparents before you, and, once you are of age, will rightfully belong to you."

Harry gaped back at him, completely stunned.

"HAH! Look at 'em! Looks like a goblin who just apparated into a lake of gold!" the portrait boomed jovially.

Dumbledore watched Harry with a warm smile, as if he were particularly enjoying the look on his face.

"Why don't we have a look around? Angus, if you'll excuse us?" Dumbledore said.

"Of course! Be sure to show 'em Grandsire Kenneth's Thunder Room, wont'cha? HA HA HA! So long Harry!"

With a quick bow and a swish of his robes, Dumbledore swept out of the room. Harry followed, half convinced that the past 2 days hadn't really happened and his real self was back at Privet Drive, dreaming.


	10. Potter Cove

Chapter 10

Potter's Cove

"But Professor Dumbledore," Harry stammered out as they walked into the hallway, "what about the place we saw last night? Wasn't that my parent's house?"

"No. That cottage was owned by a friend in the village who volunteered it to your parents when they went into hiding. We felt it would be best to place them in a separate location, and retain this house as…a decoy, if you will," he said with an odd emphasis on the word "decoy".

"_This_ is your family's house, Harry," Dumbledore said as they strolled down the hallway. "It has been in your family for generations. Your father grew up here, as did his father. This is also where Sirius stayed once he ran away from his own family. Sometime in his 6th year, I believe. Your grandparents kindly took him in—welcomed him as a second son."

Harry looked around, amazed. It was strange to think that his father and Sirius had once lived in the very house he was walking through. They would have been about the same age he was now. The thought of Sirius living with his family brought a smile to his face—he knew what it was like to live with a horrible family and be taken in by another, the Weasley's had done the same thing for him. His grandparents must have been great people…

"Did you know my grandparents, Professor?" Harry asked curiously. Despite all he had heard about his parents, he couldn't ever remember hearing anyone mention his grandparents.

"Only by reputation, although I did meet them once. Very kind, very open people. Truly fit in at Godric's Hollow," Dumbledore said.

They continued exploring the house; a wide, two storied building made mainly from stone and the dark, smooth wood Harry had noticed in the bedroom. Large oaken beams supported high, vaulted ceilings. The rough stone walls gave the house a rustic, earthy feeling that reminded Harry of a Muggle hunting lodge.

They peered into at least 10 different rooms, some of which were empty, the rest full of various personal belongings, as if they previous inhabitants would come back at any moment. Harry took in very little, however, still dazed by all that had happened in the last few days. The main thing he was aware of was a warm feeling of comfort that continued to swell in his heart as they saw more and more of the house—he had thought that any trace of his family had been destroyed with the cottage he had seen the previous night, but here he was, walking around in the actual house his family had inhabited, a solid remnant of the family he had never known.

At length they came to a large, open room at the front of the house that appeared to be the entrance hall. The ceilings here were higher than anywhere else, and Harry noticed that the hallway with the wooden banister on the second floor looked out on this room. A large, empty fireplace stood against the left wall, and on the right was a large wooden display case full of objects of different sizes and shapes. Harry's attention was instantly drawn to the center of the room, however, where about 8 or 9 mismatched chairs were placed around the fireplace in a crude half-circle. Each one was of a different make than the others, the styles ranging from an enormous, oaken rocking chair to a tiny cushioned seat that looked as though it had been made for a child. Each chair looked well used, as though the occupants were in a regular habit of gathering together in the entry hall.

"And now you have seen Potter's Cove, or, at least what can be seen on the surface," Dumbledore said as he sat in a large, comfy chintz chair not unlike the one Harry had seen him conjure at the ministry a year before. "I'd wager there is quite a bit more to it. Perhaps some thorough exploring can unlock its secrets."

Picking his way through the jumble of chairs, Harry sat in the wooden rocking chair. It turned out to be larger than he thought; he could barely touch the floor. "But Professor Dumbledore, there's one thing I don't understand."

"Just one, Harry?" Dumbledore asked with a small smile.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about this place? Why couldn't I have come here before?"

"A good question. Allow me to respond with one of my own. If you had known of this house's existence before now, knew that you would inherit it one day, would you have ever returned willingly to Privet Drive?"

"Well, no," he admitted.

"You would have desired to return here every summer, quite understandably, and would not have had the protection that your mother's blood provided you at Privet Drive," Dumbledore stated simply.

The headmaster suddenly leaned forward in his chair and spoke in a more sober tone.

"I know your distaste for secrets Harry, but I believed it best to reveal this information only when you were ready."

Harry blanched inwardly. Although he was sick of hearing things like "when you are ready" or "when you are old enough", he could see the wisdom in Dumbledore's reasoning. He wouldn't have wanted to return to Privet Drive, and knowing that Potter's Cove existed would have made it that much harder to go back.

"I understand," he replied grudgingly. Suddenly, the meaning of the headmaster's words sunk in.

"Wait—are you saying I don't need that protection anymore?"

"At the moment, no. Lord Voldemort suffered great loss after the events at the Ministry: first, he was thwarted in his goal of retrieving the prophecy; second, many of his most faithful Death Eaters were taken from him, and he has yet to gain them back; finally, you repelled him so forcefully when he attempted to possess you that he has no desire to attempt a direct attack on you any time soon. Voldemort has been put on defensive for the moment, and I feel that, with some precautions of course, you will be safe here."

Harry silently digested the information. What Dumbledore had said was surprising, but it explained quite a bit. He had been expecting another attack from Voldemort, but the summer had been surprisingly uneventful. Apparently he hadn't needed the extra Occlumency practice after all.

"So, Voldemort is in hiding again?"

"Oh, he has made a few token attacks on the public, of course," Dumbledore said, "but for the most part he is lying low, trying to recover his losses. For the moment his focus is off you, which must be a welcome change, I am sure."

"I read about the attacks over the summer," Harry added, thinking of the Daily Prophet articles. "They were all on Muggles and it seemed like he was trying to scare people more than to hurt anyone."

"A very astute observation, Harry. You see the brilliance behind it, of course. By attacking large groups of Muggles, Voldemort forces the Ministry to expend their time and efforts covering it up rather than fighting him. It buys him time to regroup and grow in strength, as well as recruit new followers. As you are already aware, the dementors of Azkaban have joined his cause, as have a number of the giants Hagrid was sent to visit last summer." Harry grimaced. He wasn't supposed to know about Hagrid and Madame Maxime's visit to the giants the previous year, but he, along with Ron and Hermione, had coaxed it out of him.

"Err…sorry."

"It's quite all right Harry," Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "You, Miss Granger, and young Mr. Weasley have a knack for figuring out things you are not supposed to. I learned a long time ago not to fight against it, but…channel it in more productive directions."

Harry thought he saw a sly grin on the headmaster's face, but it vanished in a second.

"On top of the giants and the dementors, we also have reason to believe the goblins may soon join him."

Harry was taken aback. He had very little experience with the goblins—the only time he had really been around them was when he went to Gringotts and pestering Ludo Bagman during his fourth year. They had always seemed small, harmless creatures—kind of a surly, temperamental House Elf. He said as much to Dumbledore.

"But, are the goblins really that big of a threat?"

Dumbledore nodded his head as if expecting the question. "It seems strange to hear goblins listed with frightful creatures like dementors and giants, I know. But think, Harry. Goblins control Gringotts bank, the largest financial institution in the wizarding world, and with it, the economy. On top of that, they also possess a powerful brand of magic unique to their kind, much like House Elves and Centaurs. If they were to join Voldemort the consequences would be disastrous."

Harry was about to ask more when Dumbledore raised a hand to interrupt him.

"But let us speak no more of this for now, Harry. You have earned a break from these concerns for a while. For now I want you to relax. I think you will find that some time alone will do wonders. You are the new master of this house, and I suggest you take some time to become familiar with it. Your personal belongings have been brought here, and you will find the kitchen well stocked with food courtesy of your friend Dobby."

"I have only one request. Please limit your exploring to this house and the area around it, and do not venture into the village. While the inhabitants of Godric's Hollow would be overjoyed to see you, I feel it best to not bring any attention to your staying here."

Harry readily nodded his acknowledgement.

Dumbledore stood, looking at his pocket watch. "Now, Harry, I have other urgent business to attend to and must be off. Relax. Have fun. You will be safe here. Think of it as being on holiday. You certainly deserve it," he said with a fatherly smile. "I will return this time tomorrow to see how you are doing."

With that, the headmaster turned and made his way towards the front door. He was just about there when Harry remembered something.

"Wait, professor, one more thing!"

"Yes Harry?" Dumbledore turned around. His face was focused and he looked anxious to be going, as if he were late for something important. Harry decided to not waste any of his time.

"The letter to Uncle Vernon you wrote a couple days ago. Err….what did it say?"

Dumbledore paused and looked at him curiously. "You mean he didn't tell you?"

"Well, no," Harry replied, confused.

The intent, hardened look on Dumbledore's face suddenly melted as he shook his head and gave a small laugh. "After all these years I still underestimate that man," he muttered to himself. He then looked at Harry, an amused look on his face.

"I thanked him for watching over and providing for you and informed him that after this summer," here he paused dramatically, watching Harry's face as though he was anticipating the expression that would follow the next piece of news, "you will no longer need to return to Privet Drive."


	11. Visitors

Chapter 11

Ron and Hermione

The next few days were like nothing Harry had ever experienced. He had never really spent much time alone (Hogwarts was always too crowded and he had never been left alone for very long at the Dursleys, who were afraid he would somehow destroy the house). At first it had been uncomfortable, even a little scary, but as the days passed he came to enjoy the solitude. It seemed to clear his head and he found he could relax entirely when no one else was around. There weren't the tests or homework to worry about like at Hogwarts, and he didn't have to deal with Dudley's tantrums and Uncle Vernon's attitude as he did at Privet Drive.

In addition, Harry found the freedom quite enjoyable; he could do whatever he felt like, eat whatever sounded good (Dobby had left him an amazing an array of food, all pre-made), sleep until he was ready to wake up, even leave messes wherever he wanted—a luxury he had never enjoyed at the Dursley's (though one Dudley had enjoyed to great extent).

What made the freedom even sweeter, however, was knowing that he would never again have to return to Privet Drive. This knowledge gave him the most wonderful feeling he had felt since learning he was a wizard. No more would he have to endure the scorn and hostility of the Dursleys, or the boredom and isolation of being stranded in the Muggle world. It was as if a heavy burden had suddenly been lifted from his back, and he felt lighter and giddier than ever before.

He spent his days exploring the house and the property around it. Harry was careful to obey Dumbledore's request to not let anybody from the village know he was there, which, as it turned out, wasn't so hard a task as Potter's Cove was considerably large and had plenty to keep his interest. It became quickly apparent why the place was called Potter's Cove: tucked away in a quaint corner of Godric's Hollow, the house was built in a large indentation in the mountains and surrounded by trees, giving it a hidden, secluded feel. It was also removed a considerable distance from the rest of the village, so Harry was able to ride his broom and explore freely without fear of being discovered.

Flying above the property his third day at Potter's Cove, he found a small river flowing down the mountain and along the eastern edge of the cove. The aerial view was spectacular—trees covered most of the land, although there were clearings here and there of varying sizes, a rather large one right behind the house.

True to his word, Dumbledore had stopped in nearly every day. His visits were short, usually just to see how Harry was doing and if he needed anything. Though he was always cheerful, Harry couldn't help but notice a small hint of weariness in the headmaster's manner, as though he were trying to do too many things at once.

It was during one of these visits that Harry resolved to ask the headmaster for a small favor. At least a week had passed since he first arrived at Potter's Cove (though the days had seemed to melt together), and although he had enjoyed his time spent alone, Harry found himself wishing for company. It had been some time since he had talked with either Ron or Hermione and he was anxious to show them everything that had happened.

"Good morning Harry! How are you?" the headmaster asked late one morning after apparating from somewhere behind the house.

"I'm good. Professor, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Dumbledore gave him a quick searching look. "Of course. Shall we?" he said, motioning to the circle of chairs in the entry hall.

Taking his seat on a rickety old wooden chair, Harry watched as the headmaster sat across from him in the large oaken rocking chair.

"Now Harry, what can I do for you?"

Harry began hesitantly, "Well, it's been great here and I've really liked the time alone, but it's been a while since I've seen Ron and Hermione, and I was wondering if…maybe…" he felt awkward, not knowing if he should be asking for another favor or not.

"They could come for a visit?" the headmaster offered.

"Yes."

Dumbledore smiled. "I think that would be possible Harry. Allow me to arrange it with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and the Grangers. Would tomorrow be all right?"

"Yes! Thank you professor," said Harry, relieved.

So the next morning Harry made his way through the forest behind the house to a small clearing Dumbledore had described to him the day before. Ron and Hermione were supposed to arrive there by port-key at precisely 9:07. After nearly a half-hour of searching, Harry was about to give up when he heard a faint voice off to his right.

"Hermione, where is it? I thought Dumbledore said the house would be close by. Do you think he made a mistake?" said a male voice, slightly deeper than Harry remembered it.

Turning towards the voices Harry saw a bright red blur that could only be Ron's head bobbing through the trees ahead of him. Creeping silently towards it, he heard a second, female voice:

"Dumbledore doesn't make mistakes," it snapped back. "It's sure to be around here somewhere—we'll just have to look around, that's all."

"I thought you were the only one who didn't make mistakes," Ron mumbled, so quiet Harry could barely make it out. He chuckled as he crept nearer.

"What did you say?" Hermione asked, a suspicious tone in her voice.

"Uh…nothing. Hey is that something over there?" Ron said, pointing away from Harry. They both turned, their backs towards him.

Harry was now close enough he could peer through the branches and see his two friends perfectly. Ron didn't look a whole lot taller than he had before the summer holidays, which was a first, though he did seem to have filled out some. Hermione, for her part, looked a little more mature and her hair was as bushy as ever.

Harry grinned to himself. Even in normal circumstances Ron and Hermione seemed to be able to argue about anything, though this may have been the first time he was actually glad to hear them at it. A warm feeling sprang up inside him at the sight of his friends. He walked out from the trees to greet the two who still weren't aware he was right next to him.

"HEY GUYS!"

"AAAHHH!" "Eiiiiiieeeekk!"

Hermione yelled and spun around as Ron staggered several steps backwards and emitted a very feminine-sounding shriek. At first they looked at him in terror—if a dragon had just snuck up and said hello they wouldn't have been more scared—then their faces slowly turned to recognition.

"Harry!" Hermione scolded, her voice reprimanding but pleased as she ran towards him and embraced him in a giant hug.

"Oh Harry, how are you?"

"Good," he replied, returning the hug and chuckling to himself. Hermione pulled away and fixed him with a stern look, as if she didn't quite believe him.

"No really, I am," he said, still smiling.

She stared at him for a few more seconds, until, apparently convinced that he was telling the truth, softened her expression and spoke in a tone of relief.

"Thank you for writing that letter Harry. I know it must have been hard for you," she said quietly.

Harry thought of the letter she was referring to, the one he had written the night he and Dudley had beat up Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. It had been long, the first time he had talked with either one of them about Sirius's death.

"Er, yeah…" Harry replied uncomfortably, not sure what to say. He was rescued by Ron, however, who walked up to him and awkwardly pulled him into a one-arm hug.

He was still breathing heavily, as though still trying to catch his breath.

"You prat, you nearly scared me—us—to death," he said.

"Sorry about that. You two really need to be more alert though—constant vigilance and all that."

Ron responded by slugging him in the arm. Hermione rolled her eyes, though she still had a big smile on her face.

"Where are we Harry?" Ron asked as he gazed around the clearing. "Dumbledore told us something about your family's place, but he didn't tell us where it would be."

"Godric's Hollow," he answered. Ron looked back at him blankly, clearly not recognizing the name. Hermione, on the other hand, looked thoughtful.

"Godric's Hollow? I've heard of that before…" she said, her brow furrowed in concentration. Within seconds her face lit up in recognition.

"Wait, isn't this where…?" she stopped mid-sentence and looked at him uncertainly, her eyes widening.

"Yes," Harry replied, surprised at how quick she had made the connection. Though the three of them had very rarely spoken about it, she had probably recognized the name of the village his parents had been murdered in from some book she had picked up. Ron, however, looked blankly at Hermione then back to Harry.

"Where what?" he asked, annoyed at being left out of the conversation.

Hermione glanced at Ron, then quickly back at Harry, obviously not sure if she should answer the question.

"This is where I was born, Ron," Harry answered instead.

"Oh," Ron replied, surprised. Harry could see he hadn't made the connection yet, and he was glad. He would rather enjoy his friends' company without Voldemort's shadow lurking over them, which was sure to happen if they brought up the night his parents had died. Strangely enough, after the visit to the destroyed cottage where it happened he somehow felt at peace with the whole thing anyway didn't see a need to dwell on it any further.

Hermione shot him a quick questioning look, which he returned with a nod and a small smile.

"Well are you going to show it to us or what?" Ron blurted out impatiently.

"Sure. Let's go."

Harry led the two out of the woods, towards the house, which was much easier to find than the clearing had been. As they walked Hermione filled them in on how she had spent her summer.

"I've basically spent most of the time with my parents, because I don't get to see them very often you know. Though I have been able to finish my summer homework and research Elfish history on the side. Did you realize that since 1457 House-Elves have been…"

"You mean with the war and everything else going on you i _still /i _ haven't given up on SPEW?" Ron interrupted, looking at her incredulously.

"Do House Elves have fair working hours and benefits, Ronald?" Hermione replied coolly. Harry noticed the dangerous edge to her voice, though Ron apparently missed it.

"No, and guess what? They. Don't. Want. Them. Come on, Hermione, you've seen them yourselves—they'd rather feed all of Hogwarts and pick up your knickers than get paid. Honestly, what you're doing is like—"

But they never heard what it was like, as Potter's Cove suddenly came into view. Ron stopped and let out a low whistle.

"Blimey, Harry! Is that all yours?" Ron asked in disbelief.

"Er…no, it belongs to my grandparents," Harry answered, still not used to the idea that he could own anything that big.

"But it will be once you are of age, right?" Hermione interjected.

"Well, yeah," he replied bashfully.

Harry gave a quick tour of the house (or at least what he had seen of it so far). They started by visiting the astronomy room and the portrait of Angus, who looked thrilled to see even more people in Potter's Cove. After 10 minutes of his jovial rancor the trio broke away to explore the rest of the house, his great-uncle asking if they had found grandsire Kenneth's Thunder Room yet and shaking the room with his booming laughter. "Seems like a good bloke," Ron said as they walked back into the hallway.

Every time they came to a new room Hermione clasped her hands to her mouth, gasped, then looked at Harry in disbelief. As they saw more and more of the house a gnawing concern crept up on Harry: Ron's family was rather poor and Harry's wealth had always been a sensitive area. He didn't react well when he was reminded how much richer Harry was than him. If he felt that way about a few galleons, Harry was scared to think how he would react to him having his own house.

Ron, however, seemed to be enjoying it just as much as he was. He looked excitedly about as they walked and pointed out various details Harry hadn't even noticed. At length they returned to the large clearing behind the house.

"Well, that's it. What'd you think?"

"Amazing Harry, absolutely amazing! I'm so happy for you!" Hermione beamed at him.

"Yeah, it's great," Ron agreed, studying the area around them. "I can't believe how—Wait a minute…," he ran a few steps into the clearing and gazed towards the far end, squinting his eyes. He then turned and gazed at the opposite end. After a few seconds his jaw dropped. "Harry! Do you know what this is?" he gestured at the clearing, his voice marked disbelief, "this is a Quidditch pitch!"

"What?" Harry looked incredulously back at him. Following Ron's gaze to one end of the clearing he saw three large poles shooting out of the ground, one of which ended in a large hoop much like a Quidditch goal. A second pole rose almost as high as the first, though it had no hoop at the end, and the last rose only a few yards from the ground, apparently having been snapped off during a long period of neglect. Looking down the other end he saw three more tall poles sticking out of the ground. He had never noticed them because the trees had almost engulfed the hoops. Looking back to the center of the clearing he saw that it was roughly the same shape as a Quidditch pitch, but vegetation had grown all over it. It was a little bit smaller, but Ron was right: it _was_ a Quidditch pitch.

"Brilliant," Harry whispered joyfully to himself. He was coming to like Potter's Cove more and more by the minute.

Ron slowly walked back towards him, shaking his head. "I don't believe it. You have your own house, your own land, your own i _Quidditch /i _ pitch…" He stared at Harry with a look of awe, mingled with resentment. "You are the luckiest person I know."

"Well it's yours too. You're going to come live with me once we get out of Hogwarts," Harry replied simply. Ron blushed furiously but looked extremely pleased. Hermione smiled at them both.

"Come on, let's go have a sit," Harry said quickly, anxious to go before things got any more mushy.

The trio returned to the entry hall and took a seat on one of the different chairs. Harry filled them on everything that had happened since he had received the letter from Dumbledore: Tonks's efforts at delivering Dumbledore's package (Ron and Hermione laughed especially hard at the part where Mundungus Fletcher got electrocuted), the mysterious journey through the ancient ruins to Godric Gryffindor's family tree, and, best of all, how he wouldn't have to return to Privet Drive anymore. They were almost as thrilled as he was about the last part, and Harry thought he saw a tear in Hermione's eye. He purposefully left out the visit to the cottage Voldemort had attacked his parents at.

Hermione, who was sitting in a stately purple cushioned chair, looked as though something were bothering her. Harry was about to ask what it was when she piped up.

"I don't understand. Isn't Dumbledore afraid that you'll be attacked here? I mean, Privet Drive may have been miserable for you, but at least you had protection there. Why would Dumbledore bring you here?"

"He said that he doesn't think Voldemort is after me at the moment, that he was laying low while he gathered more followers," Harry replied.

"Maybe Privet Drive's a decoy," Ron suggested. "It would be a waste of time for the Death Eaters to look for you there if you had been hiding out here, wouldn't it? I mean, Dumbledore didn't even tell _us_ about this place, I don't think they would know about it."

Hermione's brow creased in confusion. "But still, you would have been much safer at Privet Drive because of the Fidelus charm. Bringing you here would be a risk, not to mention take a good deal of time and effort. Dumbledore's the busiest man in England right now, why would he go to so much trouble just so you could spend some time here?"

It was a good question. Harry hadn't really thought about it—he had been too overwhelmed. Now that Hermione brought it up, however, it did seem odd that Dumbledore would go to such trouble just so he could spend a few weeks at Potter's Cove.

"I dunno," Harry replied, still thinking. Unexpectedly a memory popped into his mind, the memory of sitting in the headmaster's office after Sirius had died, of Dumbledore telling him about a 'flaw in his wonderful plan', of a tear running down his ancient face. Suddenly it made sense: Dumbledore cared about him.

The realization was somewhat startling to Harry. He needed time to think about it, to process it, but, seeing Hermione and Ron look at him expectantly, pushed it from his mind.

"Er…well, Dumbledore did tell me that he thought I deserved a holiday after…well after all that had been placed on me…" Harry mumbled.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Harry saw Ron and Hermione exchange a quick glance.

"You mean, because of Sirius?" Hermione asked softly.

"Well, yeah. And some other stuff…" The "other stuff", of course, was the prophecy.

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, and he decided it would be best to change the subject before she could question him any further. The truth was he wasn't ready to share the prophecy. Perhaps he never would be.

He turned quickly to Ron. "So what's it been like in the magic world now that people realize Voldemort's back?"

Ron shook his head. "Absolute nutters. Everyone's too scared even to go outside. They think that You-Kno…" he stopped suddenly and cast a sideways glance at Hermione, who looked back at him expectantly. Ron screwed up his face as though he were about to jump off a cliff and said, "I mean, they think that V…Voldemort," Hermione nodded approvingly at him and he continued, "is going to get them if do anything but sit inside their houses and worry."

Harry was impressed. This was the first time Ron had ever said Voldemort's name and it had taken a lot of courage (even if his voice did crack a bit).

"Fudge has been booted from being minister of magic, of course, and most people are calling for Dumbledore to take his place. Mum and Dad don't think he'd ever do it, though, say it would be a waste of his time. Dad keeps pretty busy at the Ministry trying to cover up all the attacks on Muggles, so we don't see him much. And Mum's learned to live with Fred and George running a joke shop, though she's still upset that Bill lost his job at Gringott's."

"Bill lost his job? What happened?"

"He doesn't really know. He just showed up for work one day and found the goblins had sacked everyone who was a human. Fleur Delacour too. Kind of weird, actually."

The news surprised Harry. "Dumbledore was just saying that they think the goblins might join Voldemort. I wonder if this has anything to do with that…"

"The goblins?" Hermione interjected, "Really?". She had a thoughtful look on her face. "That wouldn't be good at all. Not if we lose the House-Elves too…"

"The House-Elves?" Ron laughed incredulously. "You reckon the House-Elves are going to join You-Kn…Voldemort?"

"I don't think they would ever i _join /i _ Voldemort, no, but I do think they would just stand aside and let us fight him alone. And who could blame them, after the way we've treated them! I don't know," Hermione shook her head, a worried look on her face, "if, on top of dementors and giants the goblins join Voldemort and the House-Elves won't fight against him, I don't know if we have much chance of winning this war, even if Voldemort was destroyed."

An uneasy silence set in after Hermione had spoken. Harry's mind began to spin. What would happen if the goblins and house-elves refused to help in the war against Voldemort? It seemed as though the wizarding world was beginning to cave in, and Harry felt an anxiety that hadn't been there before. He had always thought the war would be between Voldemort and himself, but now there appeared to be many other factors involved—rampaging giants, dementors, disgruntled goblins and apathetic house-elves…it was almost too much to take in. Harry suddenly appreciated what Dumbledore was going through.

"Wait," he said suddenly, dispelling the anxious silence. The memory of a shimmering, golden tree in a long, dark corridor had sprung to his mind. "There were 3 sons of Godric Gryffindor on the family tree that Dumbledore took me to. The oldest one was right in the middle of the wall and his name was bigger than everyone else's. So was his oldest son, and his, and his, for about 3 generations, then it just stopped," Ron and Hermione were looking at him confused, wondering what he was getting at. "When I asked Dumbledore what had happened, he got all serious and said something like, 'If we knew that, the war would be over'."

Hermione and Ron looked at him thoughtfully for a minute. Hermione repeated his words out loud.

"If we knew what happened with Gryffindor's ancestor, the war would be over…?"

"Yeah. It wasn't just anyone though, it was his direct descendant."

"What was his name?"

"I don't remember. Something Gryffindor, if that helps," Harry replied. Ron snorted.

"'If we knew that, the war would be over'," Hermione repeated. "I wonder what he meant…"

"Maybe we should ask him next time we see him," said Ron lightly. "Well, maybe Harry should, because it seems like he's ready to tell you anything, mate. While you're at it, why don't you ask him how to make the Philosopher's Stone and why Snape's such a git."

The tense atmosphere vanished in a second as Harry laughed and even Hermione couldn't entire suppress a giggle.

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the house and discussing what Harry could do with it in the future. Hermione suggested doing a bit of cleaning around the rooms, an idea for which Harry and Ron had very little enthusiasm.

"Clean without magic, are you kidding Hermione? D'you know how long that would take?" Ron said.

"Funny, Muggles seem to be able to manage and they don't have magic," Hermione retorted sharply.

"Yeah, well they also wear other people's hair and need mattresses to start a fire."

Harry chuckled, sure Ron had meant "matches" instead of "mattresses" and amused that he had learned about the Muggle phenomenon of toupees.

"Besides, Harry's chums with Dobby. We'll just offer him a pair of horrible socks and he'll have the whole place cleaned up in no time."

Despite the constant arguing of his friends (which seemed to have increased, if that were possible, from the year before), Harry felt happy and forgot about the war for the rest of the day. He and Ron, still thrilled about the prospect of having their own Quidditch pitch, set to work clearing up the overgrown backyard.

"Oh, so this you'll do without magic but cleaning up the house is out of the question?" Hermione huffed indignantly. Ron and Harry stared at each other for a moment, then grinned.

"Sounds about right," replied Harry.

"_Boys," _Hermione muttered in exasperation as she bent over to help clear the pitch.

Around 7:00 the sun began to sink behind the mountains and it became cooler. Harry had stepped into the house to grab a few flasks of pumpkin juice fix some food and, upon returning, couldn't find either of his friends anywhere. After almost 15 minutes of searching and calling their names he began to get worried when he saw Hermione's bushy head bobbing

"What are you doing?" Harry asked in confusion as he entered the house behind them. "Where did you two go?" They looked back at him with mischievous grins on their faces.

"Oh, just went for a little stroll through the woods," Ron replied casually. He was holding one arm behind his back and there was something in his eyes that Harry didn't quite trust. Hermione, he noticed, was holding what looked like an old beater's bat and kept looking at her watch.

"What's going on, you two are acting pretty weird…"

Ron didn't answer, but continued to stare silently back at Harry. He looked as though he were about to say something when Hermione suddenly nudged him excitedly and began counting.

"9…8…7…6…5…"

He was about to demand to know what was going on when Ron interrupted him.

"Hey Harry, look what I found!" he said, holding up an old, worn Quidditch Quaffle and with a quick gesture tossed it to Harry.

"2…1…!"

Though utterly confused as to what was going on, Harry's reflexes kicked in and he reached out to catch the Quaffle. As it made contact with his outstretched hand he caught a glimpse of his two best friends disappear into thin air. Then he felt a familiar jerking sensation around his navel as the world around him soared away in a rush of color.


	12. Ambush in the Dark

Chapter 12  
Ambush in the Dark

The rush of color stopped as abruptly as it had started. Harry felt his legs sweep out from under him as though he had just jumped from a moving car and he crumpled to the ground in a dark room. A port-key? That was the last thing he had expected. What was going on? He cursed Ron as he searching the dark floor for his glasses.

"You prat! What're you playing at?" Harry demanded as his right hand suddenly brushed against the smooth top of his glasses. "You could have at least told me it was a port-key!" Placing them back on his nose he stood up and found the room wasn't any clearer with them than it had been without. "Where are we?"

No one answered.

Confused he called out softly.

"Ron…Hermione?"

Silence.

"Ron!" he said a little more urgently, starting to feel anxious. Again no answer. Though he couldn't see anything, the sound of his voice bouncing off walls told him the room he was in wasn't very big.

What was going on? Why would Ron suddenly throw a port-key at him, then leave him in a dark room all alone?

Immediately his anxiety turned to panic. What if Godric's Hollow wasn't as safe as Dumbledore had thought? What if Voldemort had found him and it hadn't been Ron and Hermione at all, but Death-Eaters disguised as them? Polyjuice potion would do the trick pretty easily…

The sudden creaking of a door opening made Harry jump.

"This way, Harry…" he heard Ron's voice say in a teasing, almost cruel voice. He heard a shuffling of feet and the door creaking even wider. It was off to his left…

Full fledged panic swept over him now. The voice reminded him of Bellatrix Lestrange taunting him at the Department of Mysteries just before summer. Heart thumping he reached for his wand and stepped closer, his left arm outstretched. The door was right in front of him now. He gently pushed it open. Another long creak filled the silent air.

Ccccrrrreeeeaaaaaaaakkkkkk.

Slowly, cautiously, he took a step through the doorway…

Then it happened. An earsplitting noise filled the air as a dozen voices called out in unison.

"SURPRISE!"

Instincts kicking in, Harry thrust his wand into the darkness and yelled the first thing that came to his mind.

"STUPEFY!"

Suddenly the lights turned on. Time seemed to stand still as Harry took in the scene before him: a crowd of people, half of whom had vibrant red hair, facing him and grinning; strange, colorful shapes floating around the ceiling of a basement kitchen with stone walls; a long, wooden table full of food and colorful boxes; and a long white banner that stretched the entire length of the back wall read "Happy Birthday Harry".

For a split second Harry was utterly confused. He had expected a Death Eater attack, not a festive room full of people wearing party hats. He looked down his arm to the person his wand had been pointing at, and was surprised to see the startled face of Mad-Eye Moody staring blankly at him—a strange yellow party hat sitting crookedly on his head and a small noise maker hanging limply from his mouth. Every head in the room turned in slow-motion towards the old Auror who tipped forward precariously, hung for a moment, then crashed face first into the table in front of him and crumpled to the floor, a large birthday cake falling on top of him.

Realizing that he had just stunned one of the most famous Aurors of all time, Harry was about to apologize when the entire room burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

Fred and George Weasley were rolling on the ground on the left side of the room, faces bright purple and writhing in a way that made it look like they were being tortured rather than laughing. Ginny sat in a chair slouched over, her bright face lit up with pure, girlish laughter. To her left was Kingsley Shacklebolt, an Auror Harry had met the year before, who threw his head back and laughed a deep, booming laugh that seemed to make the floor vibrate. To his left were a couple more grown wizards Harry didn't recognize (though it may have been because their faces were buried in their hands). At the middle of the table stood Professor Dumbledore who was arguably the most composed of the group—one hand over his face and trembling violently. To his left were Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley and Bill; Mr. Weasley and Bill laughing as hard as anyone else and Mrs. Weasley looking torn between concern for Moody and hilarity at what had just happened. Next to them was Remus Lupin, who positively shook in silent mirth, and Mundungus Fletcher who slapped his knee repeatedly and laughed in short, quick bursts that resembled a coughing fit more than anything else. At the right end of the table were Tonks, Ron and Hermione who had bent over Moody to make sure he was okay.

Harry smiled sheepishly as the adrenaline slowly left his body and he realized he wasn't in danger of being attacked. The laughter in the room was infectious and he soon found himself chuckling despite himself.

"Come on, let's get you a seat Harry," said Mr. Weasley as he, Bill, and Mrs. Weasley strode to him.

"Er…Maybe we better take _this_ away from him," said Bill, grinning as he gently removed Harry's wand from his hand.

"Come, Harry dear," said Mrs. Weasley, placing her arm around his shoulders and leading him to a seat in the center of the table. Once he sat down she hurried away towards the fallen Mad-Eye-Moody, though he thought he could hear her giggling.  
By this time most of the people in the room had recovered from the laughing fit and had gathered around to greet him.

"Happy Birthday Harry," said Mr. Weasley, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's good to see you again." He was quickly replaced by Bill who shook his hand and laughed.

"That was brilliant! Bet old Mad-Eye didn't see that one coming. Happy Birthday Harry!"

"Er…thanks," replied Harry, not sure if he should be proud for what he had done. Bill and Mr. Weasley moved to the side as Kingsley Shacklebolt and the two wizards Harry had seen earlier approached.

"Happy Birthday Harry!" said Kingsley in his deep voice, white teeth shining as he shook Harry's hand with a strong grip. "And congratulations. You've just accomplished what dozens of Dark wizards could never do: Get the jump on old Mad-Eye," he said merrily as he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb towards Moody, who was slowly coming to with the help of Mrs. Weasley and Tonks. Motioning to the two wizards he continued. "Allow me to introduce Damien Abernathy and Querious Gimble, two of my colleagues."

"Happy Birthday Harry." "Honor to meet you Harry," said the two wizards, each nodding and shaking hands in turn.

Next came Fred and George, who had apparently gotten a hold of themselves and shook Harry's hand enthusiastically. 

"Happy Birthday Harry."

"Yeah, Happy Birthday. And thanks for providing what may possibly be the funniest thing we have ever seen," said George grandly, "if I ever get a penseive that's the first thing going in there." Harry noticed that their faces were still quite red and they looked as if they had been crying.

"Er…I'm honored," replied Harry. The twins hadn't changed much, though they were a bit stockier than he remembered. They were wearing strange, expensive looking robes—George in electric green and Fred in a vibrant, obnoxious orange. "How's business going for you then?" asked Harry.

"Couldn't be better. And we owe it all to you, our benevolent financial backer," quipped Fred.

"Here's your birthday present, think of it as just a small token of our endless gratitude," said George, producing a small neatly wrapped present from out of his robes and placing it before Harry.

"I'd wait until you're alone to open it though," whispered George as he leaned towards Harry, "as certain authority figures may not entirely approve of our giving it to you." He looked shrewdly over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione, who were making their way towards him.

"What was that?" Hermione asked the twins suspiciously, having just overheard the last part.

"Oh nothing," Fred replied sweetly as he and George found a couple of seats along the table.

Hermione shook her head then looked back at Harry. "Happy Birthday!" she said as she hugged him.

Ron laughed. "Gee Harry, remind me never to sneak up on you in the dark. We thought you'd be surprised, but I didn't reckon you'd start jinxing people. "

"Git," Harry shot back, though he couldn't help smiling.

"I don't know, I think you did Mad-Eye a favor," said Ginny, who had just joined them. "He's really let himself go if he wasn't expecting to be attacked at a birthday party. This should teach him not to let his guard down so much." She shook her head and pursed her lips in mock seriousness, and Harry, Hermione and Ron laughed.

"Happy birthday Harry!" said Ginny and she broke into a warm smile. Her nose and upper cheeks were covered in freckles and two dimples appeared as she smiled brightly. She hugged him then held out a small box wrapped in yellow paper.

"I got you this thinking it would give you something to do when you're stuck with those Muggles. By the time I found out you don't have to go back it was too late; I don't have enough money to buy another present so I guess you're stuck with this one.

"Go ahead, open it," she urged.

Harry unwrapped the yellow package to find a small, wooden box. Inside was a brand new golden snitch with the initials "H.P." engraved into it.

"Thanks Ginny!" Harry said enthusiastically. The snitch began to beat its wings furiously and darted out of the box. Without thinking Harry shot out his hand and caught it before it could take off around the kitchen. "Wow," said Ron, impressed with his reflexes. Harry suddenly looked up and met the eyes of Professor Lupin, who smiled sadly back at him. Apparently he was reminded of another teenage boy with black hair and spectacles playing with a snitch. Harry quickly put the snitch back in its case.

"I love it. Thank you Ginny."

Ginny smiled back.

Lupin approached Harry next. He couldn't help but notice that he looked more gaunt and tired than ever before, though at least he had on a new set of robes. "Good to see you Harry, happy birthday," he said serenely. He put his hand on Harry's shoulder and met his eyes. "I suppose you're sick of being asked this Harry, but…how are you?"

Harry gave a slight smile back and nodded. "I'm good. Really," he responded truthfully. Looking back into Lupin's sad, haggard eyes, he realized the connection they shared: they had both lost someone very important to them in Sirius Black and James Potter.

"How are you?" Harry asked back sincerely.

Lupin's eyes widened in surprise, then his smile broadened. "I'm good, Harry. Better now."

Harry smiled back, realizing that no matter how discouraged he felt, Professor Lupin would be able to understand what he was going through. The thought that he wasn't alone comforted him.

He had just taken his hand from Harry's shoulder when a bubbly, blonde haired Tonks bounded up to them.

"Quit hogging him all to yourself, Remus," she scolded as she winked at Harry and shook his hand. "Wotcher, Harry. Good to see you were finally able to get away from those Muggle prison-guards. Still can't believe it took three of my best disguises and 'Dung getting electrocuted to get past that hippo of an uncle of yours," she said bitterly.  
Ron and Hermione, having heard the story, laughed, whiled Ginny and Lupin looked intrigued.

"Mundungus got electrocuted?" Lupin asked incredulously. "I never heard that part. He told me Dursley was so scared of him he just gave Harry over. I'm going to go have a little chat with him…" he said with a sly look on his face. "I'll talk with you more later, Harry. Tonks." He nodded at the two as he walked back to the table. Tonks followed him with her eyes.

"Yes, talk to you later, you yummy, yummy man," she said dreamily.

Harry snorted, completely surprised by what she had just said. Ron, Ginny and Hermione looked equally amused.

"Tonks, do you fancy Professor Lupin?" Ginny asked teasingly.

"Maybe I do," she replied unabashed. Hermione and Ginny giggled. "You laugh, but from what I've seen, I'm not the only one here that fancies someone…" she finished, flashing a mischievous smile at all of them. "Happy Birthday, Harry," she said with a final wink and returned to her place at the table.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny blushed suddenly and looked at the floor while Harry watched her go. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had just missed something…

Suddenly the voice of Mrs. Weasley rose above all the other noise in the room. "Let's start eating the cake, everyone. I don't want the kids up too late."

"That sounds delightful, Molly, but I'm afraid Alastor has already claimed the cake for himself," said Dumbledore to laughs from the crowd. Mr. Weasley and Bill were slowly helping Moody to his feet and out of the kitchen. He looked a bit ruffled and grouchy, though Harry thought he would too if he had waken up and found himself lying on the floor covered in pink frosting.

"One thing I learned long ago is that in this family," here Mrs. Weasley gave Fred and George a withering look, "you always make two birthday cakes."

"Wasn't our fault it exploded," George mumbled.

"She should've known better," added Fred.

"Gits," Harry heard Ginny mutter.

With a flick of her wand Mrs. Weasley floated another cake through the room, this one smaller but looking just as delicious as the one Moody had fallen into. After singing "Happy Birthday" to Harry (who felt awkward as he had never had anybody sing it to him before and he wasn't quite sure what to do), Mrs. Weasley served up the cake and everyone settled into a festive, easygoing chatter. Harry's piece was at least twice as big as anyone else's and tasted delicious.

As he sat eating his cake it occurred to Harry that he had completely forgotten his own birthday. He had been so preoccupied with everything that had happened over the last two weeks that he hadn't given it any thought. Just then Mad-Eye-Moody re-entered the room, pink smudges of frosting still on his cloak.

"How are you feeling Alastor?" asked Dumbledore. More than one snicker followed the question.

"All right," he replied gruffly as he looked at Harry. The room went silent. Harry expected him to be upset, perhaps even angry at him, so he was surprised when the old Auror grinned at him and nodded.

"Good jinx there Potter. Constant vigilance, that's the ticket." With that he shook Harry's hand, wished him a happy birthday, and took a seat towards the end of the table.

"Look at that, no hard feelings. You're a true sportsman, Mad-Eye," Tonks shouted.

"I don't know though Harry, you've just used underage magic again. I expect you'll be receiving an owl from the ministry any moment now," chortled Mr. Weasley.

"Yeah, though I'd like to see Fudge try and expel you now. Must be hard to abuse your power while you're being chased by a giant ape!" boomed Kingsley Shacklebolt to raucous laughter from everyone else.

"Let's hear it for Fred and George Weasley!" chimed in Tonks.

Fred and George stood and started bowing while the group applauded and gave cat-calls.

"That was you guys? You did the giant gorilla?" Harry asked in disbelief, thinking back to the front page article in the Daily Prophet he had seen in Privet Drive.

"Sure did, birthday-boy," replied George cheerfully.

"Our newest product: 'Beacon Banshees'. You simply place the beacon on your unsuspecting victim and a screaming animal of your choice will chase them around until they find it."

"Available in 'Whooping Wombat', 'Flatulent Frog', and our newest variety, 'Gorilla a'la Fudge."

More laughter.

As they socialized and ate cake Harry looked around the room and gave a small sigh of contentment: Here he was with his favorite people in the world, in what was his first birthday party ever. It was all a bit overwhelming—the Dursley's had never even recognized his birthday, much less threw him a party. All too soon the night wore away and soon people started filing out the door, shaking his hand and wishing a final "Happy Birthday" before they left.

Harry gave one more tremendous yawn which was immediately followed by Ron when Mrs. Weasley chimed in.

"That's it, time for bed everyone. Harry and Ron, you can have your usual room and Hermione you can stay with Ginny. Your parents are expecting you back tomorrow morning, so I'll wake you up around 7:00. Good night!" With a final hug she scooted them out of the kitchen into a hallway that Harry thought looked strangely familiar.

"What did she mean, 'usual room'?" he asked Ron as he looked around. In front of him was a familiar front door, and next to it a tall staircase that stretched up into darkness. He had been here before, though he couldn't quite place it. It definitely wasn't the Burrow…

"Wait, where are we…?" Harry said, stopping in his tracks. It was coming back to him: mounted House-Elf heads; black, dusty curtains; a screeching portrait. Of course!  
"Is…is this Grimmuald Place?" 

His friends stopped and looked at him confusedly. They exchanged glances.

"Er…yes Harry, this is.._was_ Grimmauld Place," Hermione said tentatively. "The Weasley's moved in here at the beginning of summer because Dumbledore doesn't think the Burrow is safe anymore, remember? I told you about it in one of my letters while you were at Privet Drive…"

"So did I Harry," said Ginny, looking at him curiously.

"Er…me too," added Ron.

Harry thought back guiltily to his first two weeks at Privet Drive and the dozens of letters he hadn't read. Apparently he had missed the news entirely. He kicked himself mentally. The three were watching him curiously—he had no idea how he was going to get out of this one.

"Of…of course. I just mean, it's changed so much I didn't recognize it," he said lamely. It was true though, the house looked so much brighter and cheery it was no wonder he didn't recognize it.

They looked at him quizzically until Ginny broke the silence.

"All right, next year Harry only gets one piece of cake. I don't think he can handle any more," she said sleepily. "I'm going to bed."

As he lay in bed that night Harry couldn't help but smile. It had been a great day, and despite all that was happening around them with Voldemort and the war, it was comforting to see that there was still happiness to be found, and although it wasn't saying much, it had been the best birthday he had ever had.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13  
Back to Hogwarts**

The rest of the summer passed in a happy haze for Harry. After the birthday party he, Ron, Bill, and Ginny returned to Potter's Cove (It had taken an entire day of pleading with Mrs. Weasley, but she finally agreed when Bill had volunteered to be the "adult supervision"). They spent their days in a number of activities: playing Quidditch; exploring the nearby woods; cleaning the house; and eating, though most of the time they played Quidditch.

Bill, being the only one of age and able to use magic, had repaired the broken goals and cleared the field of weeds in a matter of minutes. Using an old Quaffle and the Snitch Ginny had given Harry for a present they quickly devised a way to play with only four people. Bill would play as Chaser and Ron guarded the goals, while Harry and Ginny fought to be the first one to catch the Snitch. Bill and Ginny were on a team and every time Bill made a goal they got ten points. Ron and Harry were on the other team, and for every goal Ron blocked they got ten points. Whoever was ahead when their Seeker caught the Snitch won the game.

It was surprisingly fun to play. Somehow Quidditch still held the wonderful power of causing Harry to forget about other worries while he played, and, observing Bill, Ron, and Ginny, appeared to have the same power over them as well.

At first Harry had felt bad for Ginny. She was riding an ancient Cleansweep that had most likely been Bill's at one point, while Harry rode his Firebolt and although Ginny was a good flyer, he didn't think she had any hope of beating him to the snitch. He soon learned, however, that she could keep her own. He had been about to catch the Snitch for the fourth consecutive time and was considering easing up on her when, like a bolt of scarlet, Ginny thundered right in front him and grabbed the Snitch, causing to pull up quickly. The move threw him off balance and the next thing he knew he was sliding face-first in the grass. Luckily they had only been a few feet above the ground, but Harry had felt humbled all the same.

"Ohhh, I'm sorry Harry," Ginny said sweetly as she hovered above him, "I didn't see you there! My broom's just too fast, sometimes I can't control it." Ron and Bill laughed heartily at the remark while Harry spat grass from his mouth. From that point on he learned never to underestimate Ginny Weasley.

Ron, for his part, had improved tremendously as a Keeper. At first Bill had lobbed the Quaffle half-heartedly, as if wanting to take it easy on Ron, but after a few easy blocks and some name calling, Bill was throwing his best shots. He used every trick he knew to throw off Ron, who made some spectacular saves, and the two would get so intense in their competition that they would quite forget that anyone else was around. Every once in a while Harry and Ginny would stop just to watch the spectacle.

"Wow, Ron's really improved," Harry remarked one day.

"Yeah, if he plays like that I reckon we've got a good shot at the cup this year," said Ginny, eyebrows raised in amazement.

"You mean you've got good shot at the cup this year. I've been banned, remember?" replied Harry bitterly.

Ginny looked at him in surprise. "Don't be thick Harry! You think that hag Umbridge has anymore say in what goes on at Hogwarts? Of course you're not going to be banned."

Her words inflamed the tiny flicker of hope he had been holding on to the entire summer—the small hope that he would be allowed to play Quidditch.

"D'you really think so?" he asked timidly, as if scared that even mentioning it might prevent it from happening.

Ginny shook her head dismissively, red hair streaming out behind her in the wind. "Of course."

Harry felt a surge of excitement. His insides began to tingle: He would play Quidditch again this year. McGonagall would welcome him back to the Gryffindor team. Angelina Johnson was gone and they'd need a new captain. Perhaps they would make him…

Harry cast the thought from his mind, not wanting to entertain any false hopes.

"Which is just fine for me—I'd rather be a chaser anyway," Ginny said, interrupting his thoughts. "Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind having a go at Ron myself," she said, watching as Ron made another save on Bill. "Come on, it's 4-3. If I win this next one, you've got to let me ride your Firebolt." It turned out that Ginny did win the next one, and from then on they switched brooms every other game.

The Weasley's visit only lasted a week, but they were able to convince Mrs. Weasley into allowing them a second and a third. Fred and George even stopped by once or twice which was especially fun, as then they could play Quidditch with beaters.

The summer passed quickly and before he knew it, it was time for Harry to return to Hogwarts. A few days before the start of term Harry received the following note from a wiry, ancient looking owl:

_Dear Harry,  
I hope your summer has been a pleasant one. Unfortunately it has come to an end and you must return to the world that so desperately needs you. I would ask that you return to Grimmuald Place (or Weasley Place, as Mrs. Weasley keeps reminding me) to complete your preparations for the start of term. I will arrive at Potter's Cove later this morning in order that I may accompany you there._

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry quickly ran up the dark wooden staircase to his upstairs bedroom and began packing. He had barely had time to finish and grab something to eat when the headmaster, in brilliant blue robes with silver embroidery, came through the back door and called for him.

"Well then, if you are ready?" he said courteously as he bowed Harry out the door. Harry had expected to travel by port-key, so he was considerably surprised to see two black, reptilian-like horses staring at him with their blank eyes when he walked out the back door. Thestrals. Skeletal, black, and silently eerie, the only people who could see thestrals were those who had seen death. The very sight of them brought back painful memories.

He was a little taken back at first, wondering why, of all the modes of transportation in the wizard world, Dumbledore had chosen this one. He felt a small twinge of fear but immediately cast it from him.

"Well Harry, why don't you take the one on the right?" Dumbledore said casually.

Gritting his teeth Harry mounted the bony thestral. Within moments they were off. The journey passed quickly and without incident—Harry had even started to get used to the strange, eerily smooth way the thestral flew when they began their decent into London. Within a few minutes they had landed and entered Grimmauld Place, which was hardly recognizable to Harry.

The last time he had been in the house had been for his surprise birthday party almost a month earlier. As it had been quite late by the time the party finished, he had gone straight to bed and hadn't seen much of it. The next morning he had left by port-key before he had had much chance to explore, so it was a complete surprise when he walked through the front door and saw a bright, cheery interior not unlike the Burrow. Curtains and chandeliers, once dark and drab, were now clean and sparkling. The wallpaper had been changed, and worn, comfortable looking furniture replaced the old, imposing tables and chairs that had once been there. There was now a large brick wall where Mrs. Black's portrait had once hung, and in its place was a pedestal with a stone sculpture of a large dog sitting upright and staring off in the distance. A small plaque underneath read:

_'In memory of Sirius Black.  
The unjustly condemned prisoner of Azkaban_

Harry choked as he read the inscription and quickly turned away. He had come to terms with the death of his godfather, but any mention of the injustices he had suffered engulfed Harry in scorching fury. The mere thought of Bellatrix Lestrange made him burn…

Forcing his thoughts away from revenge, Harry looked at the rest of the house. Everything was much more bright and clean, though he was happy to see that it had already adopted the comfortable messiness of the Burrow.

"A little bit cozier in here now, don't you think?" said Dumbledore, who had been watching him with interest.

"It is," Harry replied simply, not wanting to voice any of the thoughts that were racing through his head.

Just then Mrs. Weasley and Ron came out of the kitchen. Ron took Harry upstairs to the room they had shared on numerous occasions, which apparently had been designated as his room during the Weasley's stay at Grimmauld Place. A couple of hours later there was a knock at the door and Hermione entered accompanied by none other that Professor McGonagall, who gave Harry a quick nod in recognition before sweeping into the kitchen and out of sight.

"Oh good, Hermione's here," Mrs. Weasley said as she bustled out of the kitchen and gave her a quick hug. "As soon as Dumbledore's done with Remus we can set off for Diagon Alley."

"We're done in here, Molly. I'm ready whenever you are. Tonks said she'd meet us there," said Lupin as he walked out of the kitchen. Dumbledore followed.

"Incidentally, Harry, I think it would be best if you didn't go to Diagon Alley. Molly can pick up whatever you need, but I feel you should remain here, given the circumstances."

A pang of disappointment hit Harry. Ron and Hermione looked surprised. The "circumstances" Dumbledore was referring to was of course the prophecy, and he realized that any appearance in public was risking an attack from Voldemort. He was forced to admit that Dumbledore was right…again.

"Ok. I understand," he acquiesced.

Harry bid farewell to his friends, noticing that Hermione was studying him intently, a thoughtful look on her face. Harry simply shrugged.

"Have fun. I'll see you when you get back."

Hermione continued to look at him slightly surprised, as if she had expected him to react differently to Dumbledore's request that he stay behind.  
"Harry, if I might have a word with you?" said Dumbledore, holding the kitchen door open.

"Sure."

Harry entered the kitchen to see Professor McGonagall already sitting at the table, looking stiff and serious. As she took a seat across from her she spoke.

"How's your summer been, Potter?" she asked in a business-like tone.

"Well enough," he replied, starting to feel a trifle uncomfortable with her formality. Dumbledore entered, closed the door behind him, and sat in the chair to Harry's right. Bowing his head slightly so he could look at Harry over his half-moon spectacles, he began.

"Thank you for coming in Harry. I know you would prefer a jaunt to Diagon Alley with your friends, but Professor McGonagall and I have some important items to discuss with you. Also, as I said before, I do not think it a good idea for you to be in public anymore than is absolutely necessary, and I'm sure you can understand why."

Dumbledore's voice was casually, almost cheerful, but he glanced at Harry meaningfully as he spoke. Harry nodded his head to show he understood. Professor McGonagall continued to look at him sharply like a hawk. He wondered how much she knew about the prophecy.

"Well then, we have a number of items to discuss with you concerning the upcoming year at Hogwarts. The first item concerns a certain illegal Defense Against the Dark Arts club that you, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley formed last year right under the nose of Dolores Umbridge," he said this with a twinkle in his eye and Harry was certain he saw the corners of Professor McGonagall's mouth twitch, "better known as 'Dumbledore's Army'."

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. They had formed the DA without the knowledge or approval of any of the teachers, much less Dumbledore whom they had named it after. The discovery of it had lead to his ousting from the headmaster position for some time.

"I'm sorry, Professor. We didn't mean for…" Harry began but was immediately interrupted by Dumbledore who held up his hand, palm facing Harry, and shook his head.

"It is our wish that you continue with the club, Harry. Though this time you will not have to resort to secrecy and charmed Galleons to set up your meetings."

Harry looked back at them, completely startled.

"With the danger that faces us these days I want my students to receive all the defensive training they can get," Dumbledore said in explanation. "Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will love to work with you on this, that is, of course, if you accept?"

"Yes! I do."

"Splendid. Now on to the second item, Occlumency. It is still, of course, very important that you learn to shut your mind against Lord Voldemort. While some progress was made in your lessons with Professor Snape, there is still much to work on. I would like for you to continue with your lessons."

Harry's insides dropped. The prospect of more lessons with Snape didn't appeal to him at all, and he wasn't even sure the potions master would teach him anymore.

"I said before that it was a mistake that I didn't teach you myself," Dumbledore continued, "so you will, of course, be receiving your lessons from me."

This lightened the load considerably. Harry nodded again to show he understood.

"Good. Now to our final item of business. Minerva?"

Professor McGonagall nodded at the headmaster and turned her hawk eyes to Harry.

"Last year steps were taken by a certain…woman," she spat the word out in disgust, as though the very thought of 'Dolores Umbridge' was revolting to her, "regarding the disciplining of students. With that person no longer in any position of authority, it is my pleasure to reinstate you to the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

Harry broke out in a grin. Ginny had been right; they were going to let him play again.

Professor McGonagall watched him with a small smile.

"With the graduation of Angelina Johnson, there is a vacancy in the captaincy," here she fixed Harry with a stern glare. "Now, you have a full load with Occlumency, the Dumbledore's Army and your normal workload, Potter, so I want you to think about this before you say anything. I would like to offer you the position of team captain, if you feel this duty will not take away from your other, more important ones."

Harry was completely taken aback. His insides surged with excitement. Team Captain! A small part of him had been dreaming about this moment ever since his first Quidditch match. His first impulse was to accept the position, and he almost did, until the full meaning of McGonagall's words sunk in. He would have a heavy load this next year, though the biggest one of all—the prophecy—hadn't even been mentioned. Running a Quidditch team would definitely take a good deal of time and energy from him—the sudden thought of Oliver Wood obsessing over practices came to his mind—and the small, logical part of his mind admitted that it definitely would take away from his other duties…

Dumbledore and McGonagall were looking at him expectantly. Slowly, grudgingly, he forced the words out.

"I'm honored, I really am, but I don't think I would be the best person for the job."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

"I think you should make Ron team captain. He deserves it more than I do, and I wouldn't be able to put as much into it as he would."

Dumbledore smiled. McGonagall nodded curtly. "Very well, Potter. I think you have made a wise, selfless decision. I will contact Mr. Weasley and inform him of the new development."

Harry nodded, not believing what he had just done. He wasn't even sure why he had recommended Ron, though the memory of the Mirror of Erised their first year came to mind.

"Well Harry, that is all we had to talk to you about," said Dumbledore as they all stood. "I suggest you finish your preparations for tomorrow. Tonks and Mad-Eye will escort you to the King's Cross tomorrow morning, and the next time we meet will be at Hogwarts. Do you have any questions?"

"No, sir," Harry replied. as he made his way towards

"Very well then, we will see you tomorrow. Enjoy what is left of your last day."

Harry was just about to the door when he stopped and turned around.

"Oh wait, actually there was one thing," he said, suddenly remembering the conversation he had had with Ron and Hermione at Potter's Cove. 

"Yes?"

"Er…it's not really related to anything we've just talked about…"

"That's quite all right, Harry. What is it?"

"Do you remember in Godric's Hollow when you took me to the Gryffindor family tree and showed me my name?"

"I do," responded Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall looked at him curiously.

"Well, when I asked you what happened to one of his descendents, you said 'If we knew that, the war would be over'. What do you mean by that?"

Dumbledore was quiet at first and raised his eyebrows slowly. He exchanged a glance with McGonagall who looked at him with something like amusement in her eyes.

"The Half-Blood Prince?" she asked him softly.

Dumbledore, giving her a quick nod, turned back towards Harry and glanced at him appraisingly for some time before answering.

"That is something that is easier shown than explained, Harry. Perhaps after one of our Occlumency lessons I will attempt to do both."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14  
The Closing of Gringotts  
**

Just a couple hours after his conversation with McGonagall and Dumbledore, Harry sat on his bed in Ron's room reading a defense against the dark arts book Sirius and Lupin had given him the previous Christmas when he heard the front door open and a number of voices downstairs. Wondering what it could be about, he carefully bookmarked his page (he had been studying counter-jinxes for lessons with the DA), opened the bedroom door and descended the stairs. He was surprised to see Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny standing in the entry hall, apparently having cut their trip to Diagon Alley short.

Mrs. Weasley was talking animatedly to McGonagall, while Tonks and Lupin spoke to each other in hushed voices, both looking gravely serious.

"That's right, closed! Wouldn't let a single soul in," Mrs. Weasley sputtered in indignation. "Had an entire mob surrounding the place asking for an explanation, but not one word. No sign or anything. First Bill, now this, the nerve of those nasty little creatures!" Professor McGonagall looked back at her with a frown.

"Closed? What could it mean…" McGonagall repeated.

"And of all the days to do it too!" Mrs. Weasley said in a huff. "We couldn't buy any of the books, or clothes, nor potion ingredients…I'd bet half the students at Hogwarts won't be ready for school tomorrow. Quite a time for the goblins to go on vacation!"

"I think this is much more serious than the goblins simply going on vacation, Molly," Lupin said, breaking away from Tonks. His statement was met with an uneasy silence.

By this time Harry had reached the bottom of the stairs and joined the group. He leaned over to Ron and whispered. "What happened? Why are you back so soon?" Ron shook his head.

"We got there all right, everything seemed normal until we went to Gringotts. There was a whole crowd of people gathered around the place waiting to get in but the doors were shut. Some old bloke told us he had been waiting to get in the whole day. We waited around for a couple hours or so, thinking it was some kind of joke, but nothing happened. We weren't able to get anything for school—all our money's in there. Tonks and Lupin reckon something's going down, something to do with V…Voldemort."

They remained in confusion until late that night when Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley entered the house.

"Arthur! Kingsley!" shouted Mrs. Weasley as she ran to her husband. "Do you know what is going on?"

Mr. Weasley looked extremely tired. He paused for a second before talking and sighed before speaking. "The goblins have joined You-Know-Who, Molly."

"Or at least You-Know-Who has persuaded them not to help us," added Shacklebolt in his deep baritone voice.

Mrs. Weasley inhaled sharply and put her hand over her mouth. Harry exchanged nervous glances with Ron and Ginny.

"But, what about our school stuff? We're not going to have anything…" Ron said hesitatingly.

"You'll just have to make do," was Mrs. Weasley's replied sharply. Looking around at the nervous faces of Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry could tell missing school supplies were the least of their worries.

The headline of the Daily Prophet the next day confirmed their fears. Ron, Harry, Hermione and Ginny were sitting in the back of a surprisingly roomy taxi that Mundungus Fletcher had "borrowed" for the trip to King's Cross while Tonks read the article out loud:

"The wizarding world was shocked yesterday to find that Gringott's, the largest financial institution in Britain, has been closed indefinitely. Hundreds of angry witches and wizards waited outside the bank in vain as the magical steel doors remained closed to the public. No explanation on the curious action was given until late last night, when head banker Griphook Kerchek issued the following statement from an upper balcony of the bank: 'I am pleased to announce the indefinite closing of Gringotts and subsequent barring of all humans from our services. All gold contained in said institution is hereby confiscated.'

"Griphook, accompanied by other Gringotts officials and a number of security trolls, then went on to cite a number of alleged wizard injustices against the goblin race, including the Cambershook Massacre of 1630 and the Dervey Warlock Pact of 1812 (for the Ministry rebuttal to these charges see pages 3-6). Griphook's final words as he retreated into the bank were: 'You humans will not see even a knut until proper restitution for these crimes is made.'" Tonks read the last line slowly.

"This is not good," said Lupin heavily.

"Only good goblin's a dead goblin, I say!" blurted out Mundungus, swerving just in time to miss a post box.

Not until they reached Platform 9¾, however, did Harry realize the full impact of what the goblins joining Voldemort meant to the wizarding world. While there was usually an atmosphere of excitement and love as parents bid farewell to their children, today it was gone, replaced by a sense of panic and apprehension. Most of the parents stood huddled together in groups of three or four, each holding a copy of today's Daily Prophet and talking in quick, panicked tones. Many of the students looked at the grown-ups and around the station with worried looks on their faces. Some of the younger children were crying. Harry was anxious to get on the Hogwarts Express.

As they made their way through the crowd a number of parents looked at Harry in astonishment and whispered to each other.

"Look, it's Harry Potter!" 

"It really is him!"

"Between him and Dumbledore, somehow we'll get out of this mess."

A couple of people even approached him.

"Hello Mr. Potter. I just wanted to tell you that I believed in you all along," said one man, a tall, lean, middle-aged wizard who grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically.

Not three steps later a plump old witch dragging a small, shy looking boy behind her scurried towards Harry with her arm outstretched. "Greetings Harry! This is my son Quinn, he's just starting at Hogwarts. You'll watch out after him, won't you?"

Soon Harry was desperate to get on the train. After saying a quick good-bye to Mrs. Weasley, Tonks and Mundungus, he leapt on board, dragging his luggage (which was considerably lighter this year) behind him.

"Wow Harry, you went from nutter to hero in just one summer," Ron said in amazement as he climbed on board, followed by Hermione and Ginny.

Hermione huffed indignantly as she looked back at the gathered crowd waiting on the platform. "Two months ago most of these people were slandering you and Dumbledore. Now they're waiting for you to save them. People can be so stupid."

"Yeah Harry, no pressure or anything, but you've got to save us all," Ginny said with a laugh. "You'll especially make sure nothing happens to my poor little Ron, won't you?"

Harry somehow found it hard to laugh.

"Well, we've got to go to the Prefects compartment," said Hermione gesturing to Ron (who had a look of distaste on his face). "We'll check with you later. Let's go Ron."

Harry and Ginny found an empty compartment and stowed their luggage. They hadn't been there a minute when the door slid open and they were joined by Neville Longbottom.

Of all the years they had spent at Hogwarts together, Harry had never seen as big a change in Neville over a summer as he did this one. While he hadn't grown a whole lot, there was something in his countenance that looked older, more mature. His face was still plump, but there was a sober, almost determined look in his eyes. Harry thought back to the letters Neville had written him over the summer.

"Hi Harry, Ginny. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"No, come on in," said Harry.

"How was your summer Neville?" asked Ginny.

Neville had just begun telling them about his summer when the door slid open and they were joined by Hannah Abbott and Terry Boot.

"Hey Harry, can we sit with you?" Terry asked as he sat down, not waiting for the answer.

As they talked about the summer more people joined them, mainly past members of Dumbledore's Army. They all seemed to want to know what Harry thought of everything that had happened with the war so far and what he thought Voldemort was going to do next. Harry felt quite overwhelmed with all the attention and wished he were alone in the compartment with just Neville and Ginny again. He exchanged a couple of pleading glances with Ginny, who shrugged and smiled at him.

About the fifth time the door opened Harry was pleased to see Ron standing in the doorway, looking astonished to find the compartment full of people. He was soon joined by Hermione, who raised her eyebrows and looked momentarily surprised, then said coolly, "Harry, can you come with us to the Prefects compartment for a second? Oh, and Ginny and Neville, you better come too." Harry was grateful for her quick thinking.

"Blimey, Harry. I hope this doesn't keep up the entire year," Ron said as they made their way towards the front of the train.

"That makes two of us," Harry muttered back.

They sat in the Prefects compartment, which felt considerably cool and comfortable. Harry told them about the conversation he had had with Dumbledore and McGonagall the previous day, about how they wanted the DA to continue and he would continue taking Occlumency lessons. He also told them about being reinstated to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, though he thought it best to keep the part about being named team captain a secret.

The old witch with the food cart had just begun to make her rounds when he remembered the last part of the conversation. He told them about Dumbledore's mysterious response to his asking about the Gryffindor ancestor.

"And then McGonagall kind of looked at him and said, 'the Half-Blood Prince?'. He nodded at her, then looked at me for a long time. Finally he said something about how it would be easier to show me rather than to explain it and maybe after one of our Occlumency lessons he would."

"The Half-Blood Prince?" Hermione repeated thoughtfully. "I've never heard of him, maybe with a little research we could find out more."

"Er…Who's the Half-Blood Prince?" Neville asked confusedly. It had just hit Harry that Neville wouldn't have had any idea what they had been talking about. Hermione quickly filled him in.

"So Dumbledore said that this Half-Blood Prince could stop the war, but he hasn't any idea where he is?" he asked once she had finished her explanation.

"Yes," Hermione answered.

"But how? What would he do?"

"We don't know. Dumbledore never said. I imagine we can find something about it in the library though," Hermione said, a far-away, glossy look in her eye.

"Well, actually, he said that if we knew what had happened to him, then the war would be over," Harry interrupted. He wasn't sure if there was a difference, but felt like it was worth mentioning all the same.

The rest of the ride to Hogwarts was uneventful, with the exception of Draco Malfoy's traditional drop in on Harry and his friends. He had been in the middle of a conversation with Pansy Parkinson when he opened the door, saw who was in the compartment, sneered and looked like he was about to say something mean, then changed his mind and left without a word.

"Probably just remembered that shiner you gave him over the summer and decided to keep his fat mouth shut," Ron said to Harry as they laughed.

As the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station and Harry made his way to the carriages, he couldn't help but feel he was in for his most interesting year at Hogwarts yet.


End file.
